


You're my Light, You Help Me Shine Through the Dark Times

by CharacterStructure



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 3x07 Fix It, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon, Drama, F/F, Fix-It, Fluff, One Shot, Post S4 Finale, Time Travel, Time Travel - sorta?, based loosely off LIS, how did this happen?, let's build a grounder world today, raise your hand if you too dislike Titus, turned multi ch fic, turned two shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-03-15 00:38:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 59,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13601841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharacterStructure/pseuds/CharacterStructure
Summary: Clarke is all alone. The final person left on earth, everyone else in the stars or under the ground, Clarke finally has time to reflect on the past few months... and to grieve for her lost love. Left with only an unfinished drawing of Lexa, Clarke decides to finally complete the sketch one night. What she doesn't expect is to wake up in a once familiar tower.ORMy personal take on the whole time travel/fix-it canon story, post 3x07.





	1. The Past Runs Away from Us

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I'm fairly new to writing for people who aren't myself, so if you find my grammar, vocabulary or any bit of my writing to be subpar, that's probably why.
> 
> practice makes perfect tho ;)
> 
> Oh also my Tumblr is @ CharacterStructure as well.

Two weeks ago, the last of humanity fled the surface.

Two weeks ago, a rocket entered the stratosphere, a bunkers door was sealed, and the rest of the world burned.

Two weeks ago, Clarke became the last person, the last _grounder_ on earth... at least the last person on the surface.

It’s day 15 and Clarke comes to a revelation, standing in a once thriving village, surrounded by rubble and indistinguishable collapsed buildings.

She’s all alone.

 

* * *

 

It takes most of the first week for the worst of the radiation poisoning to pass through her system. Three days after she feels less like death, Clarke finds herself able to explore her new home, Becca’s lab, more and see what it has to offer. 

It turns out the answers: not much. After wandering through the various halls, labs and storage rooms, Clarke takes inventory of her remaining supplies. There’s almost no food left in the lab, and after scanning all the functions and systems of the lab database, Clarke also discovered, there was no way to create or grow sustenance either.

On day 12, Clarke realizes if she doesn’t venture out and find a new source of food, she will soon starve. Considering death by radiation, or whatever horrors she might face on the surface, sounds more pleasant and quicker than starvation, she prepares to leave the lab. 

Exiting her haven presents many problems for the blonde. Most importantly, the radiation. Her hazmat suit is beyond repair. The face mask is shattered, the suit itself is torn to shreds and no amount of sewing, taping, and repairing would make the protection viable. Clarke’s only other protection comes in the form of the black blood coursing through her veins. The testing she and her mother conducted never reached a conclusive result; the _natjus_ may very well keep her alive or do nothing and she dies within minutes.

With a familiar metallic hiss, Clarke enters the airlock of Becca’s lab. Glancing through the small, circular window to the maintenance entrance, she can see lifeless trees, bare of any leaves or green, and a cloudless sky. A slight grumble in her stomach reminds Clarke of her mission, and without much more delay, reaches for the hatch lock.

Opening the airlock for the first time in nearly a month is breathtaking. Literally. The slightly humid breeze whips past the blonde as she remains frozen to the spot. Clarke closes her eyes and takes a long, lingering breath through her nose, enjoying fresh air for the first time in weeks. A scent she had grown to take for granted in recent months. The once stale, bland, metallic air is now permeated with the smells of burnt wood and dirt. After her eyes adjust to the new bright streams of light peeking through the opening, it’s time to venture outside.

Her first steps on ground bring her back to the beginning, with thoughts of Octavia and her youthful innocence. The screech of _“we’re back bitches!”_ rings in her ears. Clarke closes her eyes once more, reminiscing of simpler times - of better times.

 

* * *

 

Children and teens alike, peering out into a bright new world, find themselves shocked with awe. Their eyes are treated with an unspoiled earth, rich with color and life. Leaves fall from trees, branches rustle in the gentle breeze, and here they are - in the middle of it all. Children surrounded by life, filled with new life, a new purpose, and a new _hope_.

Children stepping out of the metallic hull to experience an entirely new pallet of colors, scents, and sounds. Almost like newborns, teenagers hobbling onto rich, compact earth and their senses are almost immediately overwhelmed.

New shades of blue in the skies and rivers, new shades of yellow in fallen leaves and the sun shining from above. Then the greens. Greens so beautiful. Every ounce of her periphery was filled with greens, as far as she could see... between the trees, the grass, thick vines and other shrubbery, this new world was 20 different shades of green, each shade more beautiful than the rest. _None more beautiful than the forest green of the most captivating eyes._

 

* * *

 

Another pair of green disturbs Clarke’s thoughts and she’s forced to rejoin reality before daydreams become nightmares.

Snapping out of her trance, Clarke begins to scan her surroundings... only to remember, there are no longer threats to scan for. Her immediate surroundings are charred earth and burnt trees, blackened so much she finds it impressive they remain standing. The ground is bare and brown, cracked and ash ridden. The sun beats down on Clarke and she soon finds herself warm, hot even. This, she thinks to herself, is strange considering the cold weather from sheer weeks ago.

Clarke begins to search the remains of a once full forest, now nothing more than a wasteland to commemorate the dead. Along her expeditions, she comes across nothing but death and destruction. She thanks whatever deity, or whoever might be looking out for her, when she finds some small shrubs home to a few recognizable berries, nothing to fill her, but enough to give her hope. After many hours of scouting the nearby land, Clarke realizes two things.

The first is she will have to find food elsewhere, somewhere less devastated. The other revelation comes as a slight afterthought. _The quiet might kill her first._

 

* * *

 

Three months ago, Lexa died.

To be more exact it’s been 87 days... according to her makeshift calendar of scratch marks on the side of the rover.

Three months of being alone. Three months of constant guilt and grief.

It’s been 87 days since Lexa died.

87 days ago, Clarke’s world crashed and burned. A few weeks later, the world itself did the very same.

87 days of piercing emerald eyes visiting her in dreams and haunting her in nightmares. Greens that never look right when Clarke attempts to draw them from memory alone. Greens that were taken from her before Clarke could admit, to herself or the owner of the vivid orbs, she needed them.

Instead of being able to properly grieve her loss, Clarke found herself thrust, yet again, into crisis. A crisis that seems so pointless and unnecessary looking back. The weeks following Lexa’s pure spirit leaving this cruel place are spent trying to save her people. Weeks filled with rebellious coups, tyrant chancellors, killer A.Is, crumbling coalitions and a slow poisoning through nature itself.

After the chaos desists, and the world has ended - _again!_ \- Clarke is finally able to heal, to properly mourn the loss of her love.

The peace brings silence, and the silence brings unwelcome thoughts. Thoughts of forest green eyes and chestnut brown locks. Dreams filled with blood red waves of silk and metallic silver swords glinting in the sunlight. With each passing day, those greens and browns, reds and silvers, every color, darkens and fades.

After 5 weeks of peace and quiet in this bleak new world, Clarke experiences the beginning of new life, green roots starting to bud and ash washing away to reveal a slightly browner earth. Colors she can’t quite enjoy, especially when looking at the budding greens, when comparing to the beauty of Lexa’s eyes. Clarke’s _color_ in the world died in her arms almost 3 months ago. Leaving her with black stained clothes, and an even blacker heart.

 

* * *

 

Around the 88th day, Clarke begins to question the longevity of her desire to survive. Is there really a point? Peace will surely have been achieved within the bunker, or they’ll all be dead regardless. In five years, the remaining inhabitants of earth should be able to work together and thrive.

Then again, she does miss her friends. Hopefully Raven, Monty, Bellamy and the others will come back down one day. Between her friends in space, and the others underground, Clarke knows she has a reason to stay, even if it still hurts to do so. They wouldn’t bring back her color, no one else could, but hopefully she could bring back some of theirs.

The thought of her friends in space bring both good and bad memories. Faced with nothing but time, she can reflect on the last few months and all the pain she’s had to endure, with her friends and a result of their actions. Between betrayals and fighting together, her friends are at the center of the most painful memories she has on earth. There are even instances where Clarke’s own mistakes have hurt her friends.

_Monty and Bellamy standing beside her in the Mt. Weather control room._

_Raven_ _’s cries when she plunged the knife into Finn._

_Murphy bound and gagged, forced to bear witness to Clarke_ _’s recurring nightmare._

_Bellamy siding with Pike, killing innocents and hurling blame at her._

The dread that accompanies these thoughts prove too much for the blonde. It’s easier to just tune out these thoughts and focus on surviving for the next 5 years.

 

* * *

 

It’s been 100 days now.

100 days and Clarke is _numb._ This feeling is absolute emptiness. A shell of a girl that was once a strong leader, a loving daughter, and a mindful ambassador.

She can’t exactly put it into words, and why should she? Everyone’s gone – there’s no point in explaining her thoughts without someone to share them with. The cause of her melancholy, her ever-persistent grey skies and dreary landscapes, is no question in Clarke’s mind.

She can handle being alone, she handled the physical pain of burns, scrapes, bruises, and radiation poisoning in her time on earth, Clarke’s overcome every obstacle placed in front of her, going back all those months ago when she witnessed a goggle donning boy swing across a river, only to receive a spear directly to the chest.

No, Clarke can handle pain, physical or emotional, and she has endured it for months. The one thing Clarke struggles to look past is death of her- of Lexa. The green that faded with a quick muzzle flash, and an even quicker _“may we meet again”_.

It’s only been 100 days, and her only plan is survival, to keep surviving.

100 sleepless nights, most scattered with dreams of a quick flash of chestnut locks, a slight upturn of lips, a glimpse of the greenest eyes she’d ever seen. Dreams that always end the same - as a nightmare. Nightmares consisting of a bleeding figure, black stained hands, teary eyes, and whispered goodbyes. Nightmares that transition a beautiful, luxurious bedroom into a black expanse, at the speed of a bullet.

Then, always, far off in the recesses of Clarke’s fading dream, a whispered reminder.

 

_“I’ll always be with you”_

 

* * *

 

Clarke jerks awake, with salty tears running down her face, a familiar routine by now. She wipes her eyes and gathers her bearings.

The sun is low in the sky when she climbs out of the rover. An afternoon nap turned into at least 6 hours of uneasy sleep - a blessing considering Clarke normally only slumbers for 2 or 3 before the monsters in her dream force her back to reality.

Positioned on a small hill, Clarke gazes out on the remains of a once great city. _Polis._ The grounder center for trade, culture, and peace, now reduced to piles of rubble and garbage.

As the setting sun marks the end of day 100, Clarke observes the last rays of sunlight shining down on destroyed homes and cluttered streets. If she strains her eyes just far enough, she can make out the Polis Tower remains - barely a story left of the former skyscraper.

Polis is nothing of its former glory from months ago.

Marketplaces once overflowing with joyous shouts, welcoming vendors, and squealing children, are now buried beneath rubble, and a thick layer of dirt and grime.

Training grounds where overzealous seconds and battle-hardened warriors train every day, have become barren fields spread with weeds and cracked earth.

When the sun reaches its lowest point, Clarke ventures back to the rover - hardening her resolve in anticipation for another rough night.

 

* * *

 

Opening the hatch of the rover provides some light, as the overhead dome light beams to life, illuminating the mostly empty trunk.

After another unsatisfying meal of dried meats, Clarke searches her surroundings for anything to do - to wane off the ever-recurring dread that accompanies peace with nothing but her thoughts.

Clarke dumps the contents of her pack onto the floor of the trunk. The flashlight falling into the metal flooring sounds off a loud _thump_ as it proceeds to roll away. The last of the pack contents spill out, producing a folded single piece of paper falls out to land among the slight mess.

Clarke snatches the paper and unfolds it with extra care, not even chancing the idea of any rips or tears. Clarke unfolds one crease, and then another - flattens the paper over her folded knees and looks down - _there she is_.

A sharp inhale, a shaky exhale, a slow blink of eyes and then Clarke begins her nighttime ritual.

She’s just as beautiful as she was last night, and the night before, and every night prior. If Clarke stares hard enough she imagines the sleeping beauty’s chest will rise and fall with each slumbered breath. If she closes her eyes and tries to remember that day, she imagines the slight murmurs Lexa let out in her sleep. If she slows her breathing and draws her knees up to her chest, she can hold herself like she wants to hold the woman who haunts her every thought.

Trying to remember that peaceful moment stolen from a world of politics and deceit is no use. Clarke can never quite remember the scrunch of the brunette’s brows or the slight pout of her lips, that formed in her sleep. She can only remember the overwhelming feeling of peace and true happiness - a delicacy at the time. One of the few true moments where she felt safe since arriving to earth.

After a few minutes of near deafening silence, there’s a flash of light from the window. Then another. Then, before she can react, rain is pouring into the opened hatch and soaking her the floors and all the contents laid out. She is forced to quickly reach over and slam the hatch shut, fighting the uproar of wind, and crashing waves of rain.

There will be no more sleep tonight - at least not with comfort, as her only blanket is soaked now. Clarke draws her eyes back towards her drawn knees and notices a few drops of water have dripped down the drawing. Clarke dabs away the remaining water tracks, and gently blows to dry the wet streaks on her last connection to Lexa.

“Unbelievable.” Clarke growls. Angry with herself. She has, once again, failed to protect Lexa - even in charcoal and paper form.

It’s an illogical way of thinking, but caught up in her dark thoughts and devastation, Clarke finds her eyes beginning to blur and burn with unshed tears. Clarke angrily wipes her tears away and sets the paper aside to prevent further damage. She can already spot a slight smear on the bottom corner, right next to the name of her muse: _“Leksa”_.

That small smear of black shading causes the blonde to realize - the drawing is _unfinished_. Lexa’s shirt was never correctly traced into the sketch and the shading of the room was all wrong. Clarke never completed her drawing because of Lexa’s nightmare - her warning - of an assassination. _If only she_ _’d taken that seriously._

Grabbing one of her pencils spilled out in the wet pile of belongings, Clarke places the paper back in her lap to repair the slight blemish of the drawing. She gets lost in the movements of her hand, the tightening of her hold on the pencil and the changing pressure she adds to lighten or darken certain shadows and colors. Clarke shades, sketches, and details out her work onto the parchment.

When the weather has cleared, the sun is beginning to rise, and her hand is cramping, Clarke finally begins to tire.

When Lexa’s arm muscles are defined, the crease of her shirt is visible, and her pouted lips are perfectly curved, Clarke lets her head fall into her knees and closes her eyes.

When Clarke is lulled to sleep by the sound of her own breathing and the sleeping beauty she can almost picture behind her eyes, she smiles.

When Clarke dreams, it’s of times before blue skies and green forests turned grey and dark.

Clarke dreams of when her days were lighter. When her _colors_ were brighter.

 

* * *

 

Waking up the next morning comes as a challenge. The stiffness in her neck and shoulders, an ache compounded by the dull ache of her lower back, makes for an unpleasant start to another day of survival. After last night’s weary night of stormy hearts and thundering skies, a few more minutes to rest seems like the right choice.

When Clarke wakes again, she feels different. The first thing she notices is the slight murmur of whispered discussions and gossip, sounding far away and muffled by multiple walls or rooms. The blonde groans, stretching her neck and back with stiff tugs and turns, finally feeling her locked muscles relaxing ever so slightly.

Stretching her arms above her head, hearing the satisfying _pop_ of her shoulders, her charcoal tool, still resting in her palm from last night, falls with a _thunk_ onto the floor. Squeezing her eyes open, Clarke bends down in her chair to retrieve the charcoal pencil and grasps the tool. Sitting back up and placing it on the table in front of her- _wait._

Glancing up at the table, glowing with easily two dozen candles in the daylight, Clarke pauses. The last thing she remembers was Polis, and the rover, and a freak thunderstorm, and _Lexa_ _’s drawing_.

Looking down she sees the very same drawing, finally finished after months of sitting in her single pack. It’s the same as she remembers, with the same slight smear on the bottom corner of the parchment and the figure detailed, _Lexa_ , is still defined muscle and unrefined beauty. However, she is no longer seated on the metal floor of the rover’s hatch, but rather curled uncomfortably in a over-sized, cushioned chair.

Looking away from her drawing, Clarke cranes her neck to the left and right and is greeted with a familiar scene. It’s just how she remembers Lexa’s room to be, but much more vivid than any of her previous dreams. The furniture seems more distinguished, the backdrop of a descendant sun, and the sounds of eager masses, going about their day, wafting through the balcony all seem much more _real_. Looking towards the couch, she can see her - _Lexa_ \- sleeping unsoundly.

Chestnut eyebrows are scrunched in concern or worry, her hair twists lightly with each panicked turn of her head. The brunette’s chest heaves increasingly more with each breath. Her distress seems to gradually persist with each passing minute until finally she gasps for a breath, her eyes shooting open, and jolts upward. Chest heaving, eyes fixed on her hands in her lap, Lexa is right in front of her - recovering from a nightmare - _again_.

Clarke remains stock still; afraid any movement, any wrinkle in the fabric of this moment, will break the spell and cause her to wake. Her eyes are wide, her mouth hanging open slightly ajar and the blonde hasn’t made a sound, taken a breath or even blinked in almost a minute.

Lexa seems to notice Clarke’s statue-esque stance to her right and focuses on the distressed girl. Her eyebrows knit together slightly, as she attempts to meet Clarke’s eyes.

When green meets blue, Clarke finds herself gasping for breath, as she’s sure all air was just sucker punched from her gut. One hand covers her mouth, and the other clenches into the tightest fist she’s ever made. Her eyes burn with unshed tears and it feels like the most blessed and worst case of _d_ _éjà vu._

“Clarke?” Lexa asks questioningly. Standing from her spot on the couch and slowly crossing the room towards the blonde.

That voice, her name rolling off a perfect tongue - always sounding slightly different, rolled R’s and clicked K’s, is what shatters the remains of her resolve. Clarke finds herself crumbling, tears beginning to spill over her lids and down her cheeks, short gasps of air and attempted dialogue spilling from her lips, and legs failing her as she begins to collapse to the ground.

Before she can reach the floor, Lexa is there to catch and ease her down gently. Her eyes are filled with concern, looking the girl over to determine what might be causing the distress rolling from the blonde in her arms.

Clarke lets herself be held, reuniting with the warm, gentle embrace of the green-eyed girl supporting her. Lean, muscular arms she’d only finished sketching mere hours ago, supporting her trembling frame. She shakes with sobs and gasps, trying to wake up from this nightmare, and at the same time, never wake up again, hoping she can just remain with Lexa.

After a few minutes of indistinguishable murmurs and sobs, Lexa begins to whisper in her ear. Soft things, in Trigdasleng and English, just small, easy conversation, in hopes of calming the frantic girl in her arm.

_It will be okay Klark._

_Tell me what troubles you Klark._

_I_ ' _m sorry Klark._

… And other various shushes and calming gestures.

Before Clarke can regain any semblance of compose, she’s interrupted by a loud clang and the sounds of doors swinging open, followed by warriors and a certain adviser sweeping into the chambers.

Peering over Lexa’s shoulder, Clarke looks through blurry eyes to see an angry, and slightly  disbelieving, Titus, followed by four other _Trikru_ carrying a large crate - _Emerson_. Clarke locks eyes with the _fleimkepa_ and his disdain for her, and her believed hold over the Commander, is palpable from the scowl etched onto his face.

The puzzled expressions of the _Trikru_ warriors, and the glare coming from the _fleimkepa_ are a complete contrast to the warm and understanding look coming from the lithe frame supporting the blonde. Clarke becomes overwhelmed with concern, dread and confusion, questions- of _why?_ and _how?-_ flying through her conscious.

The room begins to spin. The light streaming in from the large windows, and the glow of a room filled with candles, falling away to darkness. Clarke feels her body begin to tense, locking up muscle by muscle, joint by joint. She vaguely hears a concerned, and slightly terrified, yell of her name. Directly followed by the sound of running and a commanding tone barking orders. She feels light pressure on her cheeks and forehead, another on the inside of her wrist. Clarke’s eyes roll back in her head, and as her senses begin to fade, she has one final thought.

 

_What the fuck is going on?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, just a little bit of info. This story has kind of just been sitting on my computer for about 6 months, and I know I've rewritten and revised a few times with what I already have, but the whole thing is still fairly raw. I've had this idea for a while, imagining if some kind of cross between t100 and Life is Strange. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it? There isn't really any dialogue between characters (some but not really) but it kind of fixes the shit ending of S3x07 and also gives a possibility of a happy ending. I do plan to continue this, unless if I can't find the time and/or everyone tells me the ideas are dumb, which isn't out of the realm of possibility.
> 
> ANYWAYS...  
> if you actually read that, thanks. love you. okaythanksbye
> 
> also, if anyone can tell me what song I got the title from... i'll be completely shocked and probably will want to be your friend.


	2. Her (Ivory) Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke wakes up. She finds herself back in time, unable to explain how she got here and if it's all a dream.. or something more.

When consciousness greets Clarke for the second time that day, she blinks awake to take in dim moonlight shimmering from a nearby window. Her surroundings are vaguely familiar, or at least what she can see in the dimly lit room. The bed underneath her is one of the softest things she’s ever felt. The plush furs she’s laid over are soft and tickle her bare skin whenever she moves her arms or legs.

Groaning lowly, Clarke attempts to remember how she ended up in this soft bed. Her mind is hazy with charcoal sketches, blinding lights and a familiar jade, green eyes.

After a few moments of remaining motionless her other senses begin to recover and the blonde notices the warmth of whatever room she’s in. Her mind begins to clear and there’s a nagging feeling in the back of her head saying _this isn_ _’t right,_ she just isn’t sure why. The warmth and comfort aren’t familiar to her surroundings for the past months, of that she’s sure.

The next sense to return is sound. Clarke can hear the slight crackle of firewood across the room, a few carried insect chirps from the open windows, and a hushed conversation on the far end of the room- _that_ _’s definitely not right._

Shooting up in the bed, Clarke stares at the scene in front of her.

A once familiar room is filled with light from dozens of candles hanging from the ceiling and methodically placed clusters, stacked on open tables spread throughout. Any remaining surfaces are covered with maps of both foreign and neighboring lands, treaties, war plans and general news of the twelve clans. The lone bedside table lined with candles and a single piece of parchment- _her finished drawing._

Across the room from her two figures stand, backs turned to her, shadowed by the light emitted from nearby candles and moonlight streaming through the balcony doors. Their hushed conversation continues, both too heavily engrossed in their quiet back and forth to notice the now conscious blonde, sitting up in bed. A 4-poster bed, carved with intricate designs of winding vines and budding forestry. A bed that’s familiar to her, faintly, from stolen moments of reciprocated feelings and heartfelt farewells, before the pull of a trigger and a flash of light stole away her chance at a _“maybe someday”_.

While re-acquainting herself with the room and all its intricacies, the blonde loses focus on the other room’s inhabitants. Too stuck in her own head, she fails to notice the two individuals across the room have long since stopped conversing, one quietly slipping from the room, leaving with a _“sha heda”_ to the other. The sound of soft door hinges creaking and feet padding across the floor breaks Clarke from her entrancement.

Looking up, Clarke is welcomed with a timid, _beautiful_ , smile. A brunette, now standing at the foot of the bed, watches her with a soft sort of worry, showing her care for the woman sitting in her bed.

“Clarke, are you okay? Do I need to send for another _fisa_? I know you are familiar with Nyko” Lexa breathes out, her concern evident in the quiet of her tone, and the apprehension shining in emerald eyes.

_What a question,_ Clarke thinks. _Is she okay?_ Sitting in Lexa’s bed, in Lexa’s room, gaping at Lexa herself. Unable to form the words, too caught between thoughts of melancholy and euphoria, of this being another dream, or somehow another chance, Clarke just gapes at the girl.

The girl that kissed her. The girl she promised a _“not yet”_.

The girl who betrayed her. The girl she forgave.

The girl she loved. The girl who made love to her, _twice_ , in this very bed.

The girl who took a bullet for her. The girl she kissed the last breath from.

The girl who is watching her, patiently waiting for Clarke to regain her bearings and acknowledge the question.

The blonde continues appraising her surroundings, trying to piece together the sequence of events that led to this moment. It feels as if only hours ago Clarke was standing on the small hill outside Polis, gazing down on the remains of a once thriving capital. Now she finds herself in the tower, the very same building she’d sifted through the remains of only hours ago.

The logical part of her mind knows that this isn’t possible- _it can_ _’t be_. Part of her wants to dismiss whatever type of dream or hallucination she seems to be experiencing, knowing she will wake up to the familiar barren wasteland that the earth has become once again. However, there’s still this glimmer of hope, a single flicker of warmth in the dank coldness usually consuming her chest these days, that this might be something else, something more than another dream.

Clarke looks back at the Commander. The girl standing at the foot of her own bed, hair shining in the dim moonlight, shoulders peeking out of her lacy tied shirt. The same shirt that had been stained with black blood, pooling and spilling over from her weeping abdomen.

Clarke must have remained silent for too long, because the next thing she feels is a warm hand resting on her shoulder, gently squeezing her as if to reassure Clarke of the life and reality of everything around her. Lexa comforts the distressed girl for a few moments while Clarke regains control of her breathing and sorts her thoughts as best she can.

“Clarke?” Lexa asks again, full of concern.

After shaking her head and rubbing her face with her hands, Clarke looks up again and locks eyes with Lexa. She takes a deep breath, inhaling slowly, holding it for a few seconds, then exhaling.

“Lexa-” Clarke’s voice shudders and cracks on the simple four lettered word. She clears her throat and begins again.

“How- how am I here?” She questions. Figuring this may be the most important question to ask. _How is she here- back in Polis? back in time? back with Lexa?_

Of course, the true meaning of her question doesn’t register with the young warlord. Instead Lexa worries Clarke might be upset about being placed in the Commander’s bed, to rest and recuperate, when she had fainted hours ago.

“If my bed isn’t comfortable enough for you Clarke, I can have someone move you back to your own room. I never intended to make you uncomfortable, this was simply the closest bed to lay you down when you collapsed earlier-” Lexa continues to ramble nervously, attempting to appease the blonde, familiar with the anger of Clarke by now.

Clarke smiles at this, a slight upturn of her lips and quirk of her brow following. Her eyes begin to water, tears slipping down her cheeks once more. However, unlike days and weeks prior, she cries because she’s overjoyed, and her cheeks begins to ache with the grin splitting her face.

Before she knows it, Clarke is laughing, grasping her stomach while she laughs and cries and gasps for breath. The girl experiences a flood of relief, confusion, and disbelief all at once. She doesn’t know how she got here, how this is reality, and she doesn’t know if this will last, but she knows one thing for sure.

She’s going to enjoy every second while it lasts.

 

* * *

 

When the blonde calms herself once more, she looks back at the puzzled goddess in front of her.

“Sorry sorry, I just- I can’t believe I’m actually here.” Clarke exclaims, breathing in wonder at her newfound chance to fix so many mistakes and regrets. Starting with her biggest regret- the green-eyed commander herself.

“I don’t understand Clarke. Are you not happy with your current stay in the tower?” Lexa inquires. “You only need ask and I will have the staff prepare new accommodations.”

Clarke laughs, slightly out of exasperation, but mostly of wonder- amazed she’s been given the opportunity to experience the confused girl standing in front of her.

“No, Lexa my room is fine.” She assures.

“Oh.” The brunette states. Looking down at her feet for a second before looking back up into the blonde’s eyes. “Are you okay? You were very pale earlier. What happened?” Love and care dripping from her words.

“Yes- I think I’ll be okay. The slight rest seems to have helped.” Clarke stutters out, unsure how she can explain those few moments of panic and confusion, before her entire world went black.

Lexa seems relieved, her shoulders physically dropping slightly. “I am glad to hear that Clarke.” The familiar roll and click of her name off the Commander’s tongue making her feel a little warm and reminiscent of the last time she laid in this bed.

“If I may ask, what happened before you lost consciousness? You seemed confused, lost even. Do you know what caused your distress?” Lexa remains adamant in her concern for the girl in her bed, hoping to avoid any chance of overwhelming the blonde again.

Clarke considers telling Lexa. _Would she even believe her?_ _Pramfaiya._ The bunker. The conclave. The City of Light. Evil A.Is. The night bloods. Ontari. _Her_ death. All of it.

Deciding against that conversation, for now, Clarke decides to focus on other more pressing matters. Secretly she’s still not sure this is completely real, some part of her still dreading the moment she lurches awake in the rover cab. She’s afraid this may be too good to be true.

She’d rather not share her real reasons, at least not yet. Clarke scrambles for the first excuse she can conjure up.

Scratching the back of her neck, Clarke rushes out the white lie. “Ah yeah- I guess lunch didn’t settle well with me. The nausea and pain really overwhelmed me there for a minute.” Clarke cringes at the easily detectable lie.

“Very well.” Lexa states, seemingly accepting the blatant lie. “Would you like some more rest, or are you able to continue your ambassadorial duties?”

Clarke takes her time before answering. She debates within herself, holding an inner monologue on what her next move should be. What parts of the past should she try to change? What parts should be kept the same? _Does it even matter?_

At this point- _in the past-_ things were already becoming chaotic. Emerson was chained up in the throne room, waiting for her, and Lexa’s, judgment. Arkadia was still a shit show, under tyrannical new leadership. ALIE was probably making her way into the lands at this point, but that seems to be something she can worry a little later about. It’s because of this recollection that the blonde realizes something, she doesn’t have many friends or supporters currently.

Most of her friends hated her. Her mother wasn’t exactly her biggest fan as she seemingly deserted Arkadia for Polis. A few people within the camp, such as Kane, were still in her corner, but she knew they would be too caught up in the chaos of Arkadia itself. No, she didn't have many supporters or friendly faces last time, nobody except for Lexa.

Lexa. The Commander. Always going out of her way to help her clan, protecting her, and her people as an extension. Risking her own safety and status for the blonde, changing laws and traditions for the sake of keeping the girl she loved safe. Lexa remained steadfast in her resolutions and commitments, whether they be to Clarke or others. Lexa was trustworthy, just one of her few endearing qualities. Gods, she loved this woman. How she remained so blinded by uncertainty and hatred is such a mystery now.

As Clarke’s thoughts drift to the brunette, she locks eyes with Lexa. The girl is still standing at the foot of the bed, waiting for Clarke to resume her duties, although not seemingly in a rush to hurry Clarke from her room. The love of her life, the love she lost, waiting for Clarke’s next move.

Clarke wordlessly makes her way out of the bed and steps up to the girl. Noticing the tensing of her shoulders and the lapse in her breathing. Her forest green eyes nervously beading back and forth between Clarke’s eyes, lips, and eyes again. Both girls stand with less than a foot between the two. Their combined body heat and shallow breaths melding together to create a beautiful mix of the blonde’s love and confidence and the brunette’s adoration and uncertainty.

“ _Klark-_ what are you-” Lexa’s askance quickly replaced by euphoria when Clarke closes the remaining distance between the two and presses her lips against the girls in a wordless reassurance. Lexa wastes no time in reciprocating pressure against the girl.

They kiss for long moments, softly breaking apart and coming back together. Their noses touching with each twist and turn of their lips. Both girls softly sighing into the feeling of coming together after so long apart. One thinking they’d never be granted forgiveness, and the other believing she’d already lost her chance to hold her love. 

Clarke kisses Lexa like she did on that fateful day, months ago, kissing every breath from Lexa as if it’s her last. The few moments of kissing and embracing seems to reaffirm Clarke’s worries- this is _real_ , her shoulders loosening and sighing contently with each movement.

After many minutes, the girls break apart and Clarke opens her eyes. She’s unsure if it’s the brightness of the moment or a change in the lighting outside, but the room seems brighter. The moonlight streaming through the windows seems stronger. The candles seem to shine more radiantly, casting an ethereal glow around the girl in her arms. Clarke can’t help but to admire Lexa.

The way she seems completely serene in the aftermath of their shared moment. Her relaxed stance, upturned lip, heaving chest and glimmering eyes, all exemplifying the true beauty of the Commander. Clarke looks at the grin on the girl’s face, and licks her lips, eager to taste that same grin- so she does.

She can taste the girl on her lips and tongue, and she knows.

She knows this is her 2nd chance at righting her wrongs, her chance at changing history.

 

Clarke knows, this is her chance at saving the girl she loves. Her chance at saving _Lexa,_ her _light_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! Just want to start off by giving each and every person who clicked/read/left kudos/commented/etc on the first chapter a MASSIVE THANK YOU. I cannot believe I hit 100 kudos on the first chapter, that's insane to me. I figured I'd be lucky to reach 50 kudos after chapter 2 was out, so imagine my suprise.. haha. 
> 
> So, this is 100% un-beta'd and 100% sleep deprived ramblings so I apologize if there are simple/basic spelling or structure errors. I will be re-reading/revising again tomorrow. I believe I hit the major points I had planned for the final part of this two shot, and wrapping up the primary premise in a neat-ish little bow... for now :)
> 
> ANYWAYS, thank you so much for reading my canon fix-it oneshot, turned twoshot, soon to turn multi chapter story. I really enjoyed writing this and outlining the overall story as it's progressed in my mind and in my notes. I hope anyone who reads this finds some level of entertainment or enjoyment.
> 
> Guess that's it, I'll probably go back and edit the 2nd chapter tomorrow once I wake up but its 5AM and I need sleep. Take care everyone!
> 
> (P.S I've used the same band, and same album, for both the fic title and chapter titles. I'm hoping somebody who reads this will know the band I'm referencing.)


	3. Every Path Leads back to the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa is confused. One moment, she's checking on the health of the blonde in her bed, and the next thing she knows... Clarke is kissing her. How will she respond? Why is Clarke behaving this way?
> 
> Continues directly after Chapter 2, but from Lexa's POV mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions, comments or just want to yell at me about my poor writings... my tumblr is "CharacterStructure", same as my Ao3.

Lexa’s not quite sure how she got here.

One moment she was speaking with Nyko about Clarke’s condition, and the signs to look for throughout the night, should her condition worsen. Now, only a few minutes later, she’s holding the very same blonde in her arms, with the girl’s head lying on her chest

The blonde seems content to just stand in silence, holding Lexa, listening to the erratic beating of her heart in her chest.

Eventually they pull away, long after Lexa’s neck has gotten stiff from looking down at Clarke. The girls separate, each looking at the other with a mixture of emotions in their expressions. Clarke seems more relaxed and at peace than she’d ever seen the blonde. Her face is a resting small smile, taking steady breaths as she continues to wait for Lexa’s response.

The brunette, while overjoyed at Clarke’s kissing her, is confused, and slightly concerned for the health of the blonde. She waits a few moments before addressing her concerns with Clarke.

“Clarke, what was that? Why did you kiss me?” Lexa’s nerves getting the better of her, causing her to blush lightly after asking her questions.

“Because I wanted to.” Clarke responds, stating her response with certainty, as if the kiss should have been expected.

“Yes, you did, but why? You have not shown any consideration of my feelings for you since-.” Lexa pauses before she names that horrid mountain. She knows the topic of Mt. Weather is a delicate one. She also knows Clarke can be heard in the late hours of night, crying out due to the nightmares that disturb her sleep, most certainly pertaining to the moment she flipped a switch and destroyed the mountain. “Why now?” Lexa continues, attempting to draw attention away from her accidental slip.

“You can say it Lexa, I made the right choice at Mt. Weather.” Clarke mentions the event without the choking up that usually accompanies any mention of the mountain. Unknown to Lexa, Clarke has had months to grieve, mourn and accept her choices over the months prior.  After months of reflection, Clarke has come to accept these things, growing more comfortable with the topics.

Clarke stares at Lexa for a moment, reassuring the brunette she is in a fine mental state to discuss such happenings.

“I kissed you because I wanted to Lexa.” Clarke repeats herself and continues on before Lexa can question her once again. “I love you. _Ai hod yu in._ I know you feel the same way, even if you won’t, or can’t, admit it to me just yet, and that’s okay. I’ve spent far too long missing you, especially during times when I could have had you, and I’m, tired of waiting. I love you Lexa, that’s why I kissed you.”

Lexa remains silent. Her eyes wide as saucers, focused on the blonde. The Commander watches the blonde, waiting for further explanation, the joke’s punchline, or for the blonde to just disappear into thin air when Lexa blinks for a second too long, because this can’t be real. _Can it?_

It certainly seems too good to be true. Reciprocated love. Love from the woman she’d dreamed of every night for months. Dreams of touching her face and holding her close. Dreams of kissing the blonde with all the passion she could manage. Most often, dreaming of a future where Clarke forgave her for her actions at Mt. Weather. This dream, a once unfathomable idea, is now reality, happening just 3 feet in front of her.

A blinding smile breaks across Lexa’s face. Just for a moment, she’s happy and this is enough. The girl she loves returns her affection. The girl she loves is here with her. Clarke loves her, and that is enough.

_“Ai hod yu in, Klark kom Skaikru.”_

 

* * *

 

The leaders spend a few more moments together, not talking, just appreciating the mood surrounding the new revelations that are now out in the open.

After a shared silence, Lexa’s duties to her people and keeping the coalition together come knocking- _literally_.

Lexa distances herself from the blonde and acknowledges the messenger. A broad-shouldered guard opens her door, peeking his head in as he informs the Commander of the _Fleimkepa_ _’s_ request to see her in the throne room, pertaining to King Roan’s _gift._

Dismissing the guard, Lexa turns back to Clarke, her face back to its normal mask of indifference.

“Can we talk about this later?” Lexa asks, all business in the way she addresses her ambassador, although a slight hint of nervousness peeking through her mask.

“Sure.” Clarke replies easily.

Lexa informs Clarke of her required presence in the throne room, where there is a matter pertaining to her and the Skaikru. Unknowingly leading Clarke to what she already understands to be Emerson, the last mountain man.

It’s during their walk to the throne room, as Lexa describes the immediate aftermath of Clarke’s fainting earlier, and the arrival of King Roan’s _gift_ , that Clarke slips up. When Lexa mentions the suspicious crate, Clarke unconsciously whispers the name of its occupant, a constant demon in her nightmares.

_“Emerson.”_

It’s barely loud enough for Clarke’s own ear to catch, but somehow the brunette beside her catches it as well.

Lexa stops dead in her tracks. Staring at the blonde as she walks ahead for a few steps, only to stop when she realizes Lexa is no longer following her.

Clarke glances back at Lexa with a level of concern and questioning in her eyes. A puzzled expression on her face, quickly replaced by a flash of realization.

Clarke’s facial expressions shift with each second that passes. She stands waiting for Lexa’s reaction to her slip up, her face contorting from shock to concern, then again from concern to anger- seemingly upset with herself or the situation.

Lexa watches the blonde. Her face exemplifies the inner monologue warring inside her head. She seems distressed again, but not like her panicked state hours ago. While before, Clarke was confused and overwhelmed, scared of her surroundings, now the blonde appears more upset with herself than anything.

“How?” Lexa asks simply.

“What do you mean Lexa?” The blonde rushes out her response all in a single breath. Her nerves clearly showing in her eyes and tense shoulders.

Lexa isn’t convinced. “Stop lying Clarke, I let it slide with your apparent ‘food poisoning’ but I cannot overlook this.” She begins to walk towards Clarke as she continues.  “You and I both know you should not be aware of what, or rather _who_ , was in that crate.” Her emerald eyes burn with passion as she watches the blonde carefully.

“Lexa, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You told me-” Clarke makes one last attempt to escape the Commander’s relentless questioning, but she is interrupted before she can continue.

“Don’t. You aren’t lying your way out of this. How do you know about the _Maunon_ man? Who is your inside source? Who is the _natrona_ within the Tower walls?” Lexa continues to interrogate, anger apparent in her clenched jaw and stiff posture.

Clarke is shocked. Between being on the receiving end of Lexa’s rage and her inner turmoil, she’s unsure how to handle the situation and remains silent.

Taking her silence as permission- _not that she needed it_ \- to continue, Lexa furthers the interrogation. “You’ve been acting strange since you’ve recovered from fainting earlier. First you kiss me and now you have knowledge that you should not. The only people that should know of Emerson are myself and Titus.”

Throughout the brief interrogation, Clarke remains stock frozen in a mixture of fear and annoyance. The apparent time traveler is speechless, struggling with how to approach this conversation she now knows is necessary. However, at the mention of Titus, Clarke can’t help the curl of her lips in disgust and anger, her eyes clouding with rage and promises of vengeance.

_Fucking Titus._

Clarke’s not sure how she let Titus slip her mind. If anything, her concern for Titus, and his plotting against her, and by extension Lexa, should be at the forefront of her mind.

She wonders if Lexa’s mentor has already begun to plan out his assassination attempt, or perhaps the thought of homicide only crossed his mind after Lexa refused to attack Skaikru directly and issued the blockade.

_He_ _’s a problem._ Titus is an immediate threat to her, but more importantly an immediate threat to _Lexa._

_Lexa._

Clarke snaps out of her plotting, finally acknowledging the girl who’s been watching her for long moments now. The Commander is standing just steps from her, with her arms crossed behind her back and her jaw locked in irritation, but also a hint of concern shining in those green pools of emotion.

She knows Lexa is suspicious of her, with good reason. The Commander’s accusations of traitors in the tower and colluding with an enemy should be concerning to the blonde, and they would be, if the sheer idea of betraying Lexa at this point wasn’t so inconceivable.

There’s no point in lying to Lexa anymore. The truth may be just as difficult, if not more difficult than lying again, to explain. Because how can Clarke explain why she knows all these things before they occur, and how she will know things to come later. But if anyone is going to believe these outlandish claims as truth, including time-travel and future attacks on the commander and the Coalition, it would be Lexa.

Clarke takes a deep breath. She takes the time to pause and collect her thoughts, her right hand rubbing at her eyes and her left combing through her matted locks.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t know about Emerson. You didn’t tell me- I’m sorry I lied- but no one else did either.” Clarke quickly adds the last part, already sensing Lexa might take this as an admission of guilt.

Lexa’s irritation has dwindled slightly, eyes now shining with skepticism and annoyance at Clarke’s attempt to lie, once again. “That’s not possible Clarke. You wouldn’t know- can’t know- about Emerson. Unless if you have direct information from someone within these walls or someone conspiring against me outside these walls.”

“I’m telling you the truth Lexa.” Clarke reaffirms. “No one, at least no one of my knowledge, is leaking information to your enemies, especially not to me. I’m not your enemy Lexa, I never will be again. I hope you believe that.”

Lexa studies the blonde, seemingly looking for any signs of misdirection. When she finds none, her shoulders lower and her stance becomes much more relaxed. Lexa exhales a breath she held for far too long and regards the blonde with questioning eyes.

“Okay. How could you possibly know about the mountain man Clarke?” Lexa asks.

Clarke chuckles lightly to herself. “I’m not sure you’ll believe me Lexa.”

“I guess you will have to let me decide that for myself.” Lexa replies, unwaveringly.

Clarke sighs. “Alright. We’ll need to find somewhere more private.”

Lexa agrees, and soon thereafter the ambassador and her Commander are walking back towards Lexa’s private chambers. The guards open the doors for them both, neither expressing confusion at their quick return. The blonde walks across the fur rug covered floor, making her way to the couch she had watched Lexa asleep on hours ago- _again_.

Clarke signals with a quick wave of her hand, motioning for the Commander to join her on the couch. Lexa ignores her request and remains standing in front of the blonde, with her hands held behind and a stiff posture radiating the power she holds.

When Clarke sees the brunette will not be joining her, she sighs again. “Alright, I guess I’ll start from the beginning.”

“I’ve somehow traveled back in time, from months in the future.” Clarke exclaims, cutting right to the chase.

Lexa just stares at the blonde, waiting for her to elaborate. The idea of time-travel is a foreign concept to her.

“You traveled a distance over time? How does that pertain to your inexplicable knowledge of Emerson?” Lexa asks. Her confusion apparent in the slight tilt of her head and the puzzled expression her face wears.

Clarke pauses, thinking of a better way to explain her predicament.

“No, I- When I say ‘time-travel’ I mean I somehow went back in time. I’ve gone back into the past, with knowledge of what occurs in the near and far future.” Clarke explains, hoping the Commander might be catching on, and based on the change in her expression she is. Clarke continues to explain. “I’m not sure how but one minute I was falling asleep in the back of a rover, then the next I’m waking up in your chambers, with my finished drawing in my lap and you asleep on the couch- _again_.

Lexa just watches the blonde. The brunettes face is no longer hardened with determination or scrunched in confusion. No, now Lexa is looking at the blonde in complete bewilderment.

There’s a long stretch of silence. Clarke is holding her breath, waiting for the declarations of disbelief from the girl she loves. Lexa remains standing, her face shifting back into a mask of neutrality and indifference. After what must have been 10 minutes, Lexa speaks.

“You- You time traveled?” Lexa asks, annunciating each syllable as if the blonde is a child and she’s unaware of the claims she’s just made.

“Yes.” Clarke replies. Not wavering from her claims of defying human physics.

Lexa studies the blonde, her questioning green eyes flicking back and forth between Clarke’s blue ones, searching for any hint of deception. After another few minutes of silence, Lexa’s face takes on a look of annoyance.

Lexa sighs. “Clarke, you have to do a better job of lying if you expect me to believe you. No more games, how do you know of Emerson?”

“I just told you. It’s already happened before. In the past, Titus opened the present from King Roan in your chambers with us both there. When Emerson saw me, he attacked and tackled me to the ground.” Clarke states. In the back of her mind she’s recalling those events that seem like years ago, when it’s only been a few months.

Lexa has a look of disbelief on her face. Already preparing to shut the blonde down again, she takes a deep breath. Clarke cuts Lexa off before she accuses her of lying once more.

“You have a back tattoo” Clarke rushes out, watching Lexa for any sort of reaction.

Lexa is caught with her jaw open- _literally_. The brunette blinks once, twice, seemingly lost for words for a few moments. Soon after she regains her composure.

“Someone could have easily told you-” Lexa attempts to discredit Clarke’s proof, but she’s cut off once more by the blonde.

“The tattoo represents your conclave, and honors each of the _natblidas_ that died. There are 7 circles spanning your back to represent each of your dead brothers and sisters. The 8th novitiate was Luna, but she isn’t dead because she ran away to _Floukru_ after killing her brother early in the conclave.” Clarke finishes, a look of sheer determination now donning the blonde’s face.

“How- Who-” Lexa tries to talk, but she seems incapable.

Clarke assesses the Commander. Her mouth is hanging slightly agape, her arms are loose and relaxed at her sides, and her expression is laughable, stuck somewhere between bewilderment and amazement.

Clarke waits for a few minutes, but when it seems the brunette standing across from her is still lost for words, she continues.

“I know this is hard to believe- I didn’t even believe it at first. It’s hard to understand, but I’m not lying to you Lexa. I’ve been given another chance. Just _trust_ me, I’d never lie to you about something like this.” Clarke adds the last line in the hopes of getting some sort of reaction from the brunette.

When Clarke asks Lexa to trust her, once again, it seems to break her from the trance she’s been in, although she still seems skeptical.

“I do trust you Clarke, but what you’re asking for me to believe isn’t- shouldn’t be- possible.” Lexa finishes, a slight glimmer of belief and wonder shining in her questioning eyes.

“I know.” Clarke reassures Lexa. She knows this sounds crazy- insane even. “I don’t know how else to prove it to you exactly, because most of what I can tell you are events that haven’t occurred yet.”

They fall into a tense silence. Lexa studying the blonde as Clarke tries to think of anything she could tell Lexa to further prove her claims of time-travel. Anything that only Lexa could have told her, something she only informed those she truly trusted. After a few moments, it hits her. Costia.

“You met Costia when you were 6 years old, she was the daughter of your favorite baker in Polis.” Clarke exclaims, waiting for Lexa’s reaction.

At the mentioning of Costia, Lexa’s face becomes unreadable. Her fists clench at her side, and she regards the blonde in front of her with an increasing intensity.

After waiting for an interruption, and when there is none, Clarke continues.

“Her father’s stand used to sell your favorite snacks, honey and nut tarts. You would stop by there every evening, after your daily training with Anya and teachings from Titus. Her father’s stand is still there. Right on the south side of the city, tucked between a candle-maker's stand and your preferred blacksmith. The same blacksmith who created the knife you carry on your hip, the knife you’re gripping in your left hand.” Clarke stops, waiting for any sort of response from the silent Commander. 

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s chest is on fire from her reluctance to breathe. Her eyes still burn with unshed tears, but she’s too stubborn to wipe away the moisture in her eyes, willing her body to obey her command. The brunette is overwhelmed. She’s overwhelmed because everything Clarke had just said was true. Lexa knows the only person who could have told Clarke about Costia and how they met, how they were connected, would be herself, and she hasn’t done that- at least _not yet_.

Clarke’s revelation did as it was intended. Lexa believes her. She must. There is no other explanation. While she finds it highly improbable, Lexa must accept what she does know for certain, Clarke knows about many things that shouldn’t be possible. She knows of Emerson, her conclave and Luna, but most importantly she knows of her past lover, and their shared history. Information she could have only supplied.

Lexa’s shoulders slump, and her iron tight grip on the dagger at her hip loosens, then falls away. The brunette makes her way over to the couch, adjusting her overcoat and takes a seat next to the blonde.

“Okay.” Lexa breathes out her belief, so quiet that Clarke isn’t sure she’s heard correctly.

“Okay?” Clarke asks, seeking verification from the girl next to her.

“Yes. I believe you Clarke.” Lexa reassures the girl, her tone and facial expression remains neutral, but the ghost of her sorrow at the mention of Costia’s name still lingers in her bright eyes.

They stare at one another, seemingly taking everything in. For Clarke, she’s excited someone else believed her ridiculous story, and extremely excited that person was Lexa.

For Lexa, her mind is racing with different thoughts, questions, and reactions. Some part of her still wants to discredit this whole idea, this notion that Clarke somehow can know of everything that’s to come, because it is ridiculous at the thought. Another part of her wants to ask the blonde questions, such as: How far into the future was she before being sent back? What is the status of the Coalition at the time? Are their people still in a state of unrest, or have things settled? However, one question that rushes to the forefront of her mind pertains to Costia, and why she told Clarke of something so personal.

Deciding to just ask the blonde, Lexa clears her throat, then questions Clarke.

“How did you find out about Costia, and our beginnings?” Lexa asks the question that’s burning in her mind, begging to be answered.

Clarke’s face shifts slightly. Her small smile being replaced by the blonde chewing on her bottom lip.

“You told me Lexa.” Clarke answers, remaining oddly unforthcoming on the topic.

Lexa presses the blonde more. “I know that Clarke, only I could have told you of these things, but I want to know why I would have told you in the first place. What caused the topic to be broached?”

Clarke stutters slightly. Her face growing red and she begins to rub her, now sweaty, palms together.

Lexa is more confused of the blonde’s behavior now than she was minutes ago, when Clarke attempted- and succeeded- in convincing Lexa of time-travel. Clarke seems nervous, extremely so, and her face is blushing a deep scarlet red.

The blonde looks everywhere but at the girl next to her, finding a deep interest in the patterns on the ceiling suddenly. She continues to stall and think of a way to explain how she came across the stories of Costia, and why Lexa chose to tell her.

Lexa watches the girl panic internally for a few moments before she decides to ease the girls nerves slightly. Lexa places her hand on Clarke’s fidgeting ones, grounding her to the here and now. She manages to catch her eyes finally, and when she does there’s a certain level of fear and concern shining in those blue orbs.

“Please Clarke. Whatever it is, you can tell me.” Lexa reassures the blonde once again.

Clarke’s face grows an even deeper shade of red, if possible, as she explains herself to Lexa.

“You uh- you explained a little of your past to me after we- y’know.” Clarke finishes lamely, frowning at herself.

Lexa was even more confused now. _What did they do? Why did this pertain to Costia?_

“Clarke, I’m sorry but I need you to explain it to me more thoroughly.” Lexa presses the blonde.

Clarke chews her lip for another moment before she seems to make up her mind.

“In the past- or the future, I guess?- I was leaving to go back to Arkadia to deal with Pike and the uprising going on at the time. When I came to tell you goodbye… we kissed. One kiss led to another, and then we kind of made our way to your bed.” Clarke rushes out the explanation, chuckling to herself nervously at the end.

“Oh.” Lexa is perplexed. Of all the reasons Clarke could have given her, _that_ certainly hadn’t crossed her mind. Deciding to deal with the blush heating up her own cheeks in a moment, Lexa continues to question the blonde, as this still doesn’t necessarily answer her questions.

“That still doesn’t answer my question Clarke. How does Costia come up in a moment such as the one you described? I feel as if that would be insensitive given the circumstances.”

Clarke flushes even more, but pushes on, explaining those shared moments before the throws of passion consumed them both.

 

* * *

 

_“Lexa wait.”_

_Clarke_ _’s chest heaves with each breath, her hands gripping Lexa’s shoulders with a bruising hold. The blonde takes a few moments to collect herself, attempting to organize the thoughts racing through her mind in her post-orgasm, state of bliss._

_Lexa is looking up at Clarke from between her legs, her head perched atop the blonde_ _’s thigh as she awaits permission to continue pleasing the girl in her bed. As Clarke begins to recover from her second round, Lexa begins to kiss and nudge her way back down Clarke’s thighs, working towards her prize. A hand tugging at her hair stops the brunette before she can reclaim the blonde’s center, a small whine escaping Lexa’s lips before she can stop it._

_“Did you just whine?” Clarke asks in amusement._

_“A Commander does not whine Klark.” Lexa exclaims, quickly and efficiently shutting down the blonde’s attempts at teasing._

_“Hmm.” Clarke replies with a noncommittal hum, her right eyebrow lifted in disbelief._

_They both pause to admire one another. Their bodies are covered in a thin layer of sweat, and while more under control, the blonde_ _’s breathing is still slightly erratic._

_After another few moments of silent bliss, Clarke pulls the brunette up to her, holding Lexa close. They share sweet kisses, each kiss lingering longer than the last, until the fire in Clarke_ _’s lower stomach is stoked again. Clarke begins to roll the brunette over onto her back, resting on her arms as she looks down at the beautiful, shining, goddess underneath her._

_“What do you like?” Clarke asks, eager to begin her own exploration of her lover’s body. Kissing and nipping at her neck as she begins to grind in Lexa’s lap._

_When she doesn_ _’t receive an answer, Clarke stops to lift herself up and check on the now silent brunette._

_“Lex?” Clarke asks, searching Lexa’s eyes for any hint of why she’s stopped now._

_Lexa wears a mask of embarrassment as she looks at the blonde above her. She clears her throat, looking down at Clarke_ _’s collarbone, refusing to meet her eyes._

_“Hey, whatever it is, you can tell me.” Clarke says, so certain and loving in her words._

_When Lexa regains her composure, she meets Clarke_ _’s eyes once again._

_“I- I’m not sure what I like.” Lexa tells her._

_“Well, what did you like with your past partners?” Clarke asks again, eager to begin pleasing Lexa as she had just pleasured Clarke… twice._

_“I haven’t had any partners before you Clarke.” Lexa breathes out the admission to the silent room, her breath catching on the last word. Clinching her eyes shut in embarrassment, afraid to meet the blonde’s eyes once more._

_“Oh.” Clarke says, surprised, and confused, as she continues. “Not even Costia?”_

_“No.” Lexa replies, shaking her head slightly._

_Lexa opens her eyes to answer the blonde, looking for any sign she may have ruined this wonderful moment with nervous admissions. When Clarke continues to watch her with the same adoration, Lexa can_ _’t help but to smile._

_“That’s okay Lex. It doesn’t change anything between us. I’ll take it slow, and we can find out what you like- together.” Clarke reassures._

_After the eager nod of Lexa, Clarke begins to descend the brunettes body, leaving sloppy kisses to her chest and stomach. Clarke continues to place series of kisses and nips at the brunette_ _’s thighs, nearing her goal, when she stops suddenly._

_Clarke leaves a feather light kiss on Lexa_ _’s center, then glances back up at her lover one last time. The brunette unconsciously arches off the bed slightly, fisting her hands at the sheets to her sides and screwing her eyes shut._

_“Lex, look at me.” Clarke breathes the request against Lexa’s inner thigh, waiting for Lexa to meet her eyes._

_When Lexa finally opens her eyes, tears have built up in those green pools, causing the brunettes eyes to shine more than usual in the candlelight and setting sun of the evening._

_Clarke is momentarily breathless, the air ripped from her lungs like a punch to the gut. The blonde can_ _’t help but to admire the beauty that is the girl beneath her._

_The girl that trusts her with these little admissions and secrets._

_The girl that shed a tear when she finally kissed her._

_The girl who unravels slowly over time, revealing a new part of herself with each moment spent in Clarke_ _’s company._

_The girl watching her with tears pooling in her eyes, knocking down every wall she_ _’s built up over years of teaching and heartache, bearing herself, physically and emotionally, to the girl she loves._

_Clarke chokes back her own tears, climbing back up to kiss the brunette one last time before she breaks away._

_“I’ve got you.” Clarke reassures the brunette, sliding back down the girl as she prepares to learn another part of the girl she loves._

 

_Gods,_ _she loves this girl._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! So, this was originally a oneshot... then it turned into a two-shot. Now it's a multi chapter fic, with no chances of slowing down (probably, idk midterms are coming up sooo). 
> 
> Anyways, thank you SO MUCH for all the love and support on chapter 2! I cannot believe I breached the 200 Kudos mark, and the kind-hearted comments and criticisms were also so very welcome.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, or hated it (either way), feel free to leave a comment and yell at me about it :). 
> 
> Side note, I'm not sure when the next update will be, expect it to be a week or two, maybe longer, because I have quite a few things coming at me over the next few weeks. Who knows. 
> 
> Also, this is the first time I've written a really dialogue heavy chapter, for any work I've done really, so if it struggles to make sense or to flow well, that's why. Tell me where it sucks and I will fix it and improve as I continue to write.
> 
> Have a great day/night/rest of the week/life!!!


	4. It's Not Easy to Believe what Our Eyes can't See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clexa deals with Emerson. A council session is held. Mix of POVs. Also we introduce (finally) some new characters.
> 
> The plot thickens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! Happy (SUPER LATE) Clexa week :) This isn't an entry or anything but it can't hurt to say, right? So here's chapter 4, which comes in at a WHOPPING 5K words. That's pretty big (for me).
> 
> We finally see some new characters, introduce more plot and motives, and we also get MAYBE just a BIT of fluff. 
> 
> Tumblr: CharacterStructure  
> Yell at me there, or in the comments, if you have any critiques or criticisms, or just want to chat. Have a great week everybody!

_Am I doing the right thing? I'm plotting against my own people._

Clarke can’t help but question herself. Torn between doing her best to correct her mistakes of the past and protecting her people - again.

A few feet from her, a murderer stands, bound to a post erected in the center of the room. His arms and neck are strapped toe the post in with thick, worn leather. The man doesn’t fight against his restraints, or plot to escape. His piercing black eyes stare back at her; cold and calculating, they follow her every move, scrutinizing her every breath, as if waiting for his moment, his opportunity, to strike. 

_If looks could kill, she'd surely be six feet under._

 

Emerson’s bound limbs flex, not to escape or loosen his binds, but only to serve as a reminder to the possible damage he would inflict, if he was free.

Clarke stands near the entrance to the throne room, her back to the intricately designed doors that closed only moments ago, once she and the Commander arrived.

The room is silent, bar Emerson’s grunts, growls, and other various angry noises - all directed at her. The only other disturbance of silence comes from quiet murmurs between a _Fleimkepa_ and his _Heda_ across the room. Quiet murmurs, that are quickly becoming heated - judging from the rising volume, as each response grows more audible. Whispered threats and commands drift across the room, riding on the slight midnight breeze that cools the room from the open balcony doors.

They are arguing, Clarke can only presume, because of her request to stand before the council, and give her case for the people of Arkadia. An act, that is heavily unprecedented, allowing Clarke to reason with the other clan ambassadors and arrive at some sort of middle ground.

Soon enough, the conversation ceases. Lexa and Titus make their way towards her, neither noticing the slight tense in Clarke’s shoulder when she’s within proximity of the man.

Lexa and Titus stand in front of her, regarding the blonde; one with adoration and curiosity, and the other with disdain and pure hatred. When Clarke glances at the brunette, raising her eyebrow in askance, Lexa responds with a subtle quirk to her lips and an even subtler nod.

Clarke’s shoulders lose their tension at the confirmation from Lexa. Her heart rate slows down, if only slightly, to a healthier count.

It’s time for Clarke to begin her address to the ambassadors.

 

* * *

 

Clarke was stunned by the beauty of it all for a moment.

The dozens of candles, some hanging from chandeliers, others scattered on strategically placed podiums and tables, all complement the hauntingly beautiful aura of the throne room; the overall mood, in comparison, is strained at best.

All 13 clan ambassadors are gathered, standing in a well-spaced semi-circle. Guards are posted, in pairs, at various points throughout the room; a pair at the main doors, another two in the gallery above, and four more spaced around their Commander, ever loyal to their _Heda_. The only other occupant is bound to a pole, and gagged, breathing heavily through the thick fabric - _Emerson_.

The air is thick with tension, even more than usual, as many clan representatives are angry over the _Skaikru_ attacks on the peacekeeping force. Every ambassador, including Clarke, exudes trepidation; many clan members wear their anger and irritation in their expression. Only one other ambassador appears more nervous than irate; the _Floukru_ ambassador seemingly worried about any warfare or resolutions involving bloodshed, afraid to approve of anything that might contradict his sworn life of pacifism.

Everyone in the room stands fixed to their spot, awaiting further instruction from their Commander. _Lexa._

Clarke can’t help but to appreciate her commanding beauty in this moment. Every look, every movement, by the warlord exudes power and confidence. Her scarlet, silk cloak hangs from her pauldron, flowing down her back and trailing behind a few feet. Her stance strikes an imposing figure; hands held behind her back, feet shoulders width apart and face donning her usual mask of regal indifference. However, the most noticeable feature of the Commander, as always, is her _eyes._

The Commander’s green eyes emit power, just from a quick glance around the room. The charcoal-black war paint surrounding the Commander’s green orbs seems to brighten and darken her eyes at the same time. The black streaks of war paint, tear-like and fading as they descend, finish her mask; a constant reminder of the tears the Commander cries for her people, tears she will never let her people bear witness to. The brunette can only be described as terrifying and beautiful.

Clarke breaks her trance when the Commander clears her throat, signaling the beginning of the session. The blonde stands to attention, perhaps a second or two later than the rest of the room, too lost in her ogling of the Commander, and awaits the Commander’s declaration.

 

* * *

 

Lexa holds the stare of every ambassador, lingering on Clarke for maybe a second too long, before returning her attention to the mountain man in front of her; looking down on the bloodied man, a final reminder of the mountain’s heinous crimes against her people. Thousands of men and women lost to become human blood bags.

Emerson glares back at Lexa, his eyes seem to shine with his inner rage. After holding his stare for many long moments, the man seems to grow irritated with the wait, and snarls at the Commander through his gag.

Lexa smirks a little, subtle enough that the only people to truly notice are Emerson and Clarke, both focusing on the Commander’s every move - for completely different reasons.

The brunette redirects her attention to the gathered council.

_“We are here today to determine the fate of the final mountain man.”_ Lexa booms across the hushed room.

There are a few murmurs after the declaration, a few ambassadors whispering amongst themselves, mostly in excitement, at the opportunity to finally erase the last of the _Maunon_ _’s_ kind from existence.

_“However that is not all.”_ Lexa raises her voice, slightly, commanding the room back to its respective silence. Once the room quiets, Lexa continues.

_“We must also make a decision, tonight, regarding the traitors of the Skaikru. The cowardly traitors responsible for the attack on a peacekeeping unit, sent to protect them; 300 men and women were slaughtered in the night, shot down by the very people they were protecting.”_

By the end of her recollection, the mostly calm demeanor in the room has exploded into aggression and blood thirst.

Ambassadors shout angrily amongst themselves, and at their Commander; asking for justice and what she plans to do about the _natrona_. A few have even targeted Clarke with their glares, seeming to be one moment away from attacking their fellow ambassador.

_“HOD OP!”_ The Commander shouts the command, immediately halting the angry rants and protests from the gathered ambassadors.

Lexa stares down a few ambassadors who seem to consider continuing their tirade, eventually forcing the men to step back and lower their gaze.

_“You will wait for your Commander to finish.”_ Lexa stares down the angrier ambassadors as she challenges the recent display, paying special attention to the two men who targeted Clarke with their verbal assault.

Lexa directs her attention to the _Skaikru_ ambassador and holds her eyes as she speaks again.

“Clarke, _Wanheda,_ the _Skaikru_ ambassador, is not to blame for the attack on our people. She is not responsible for the lives lost.” Lexa pauses. _“Jomp em op en yu jomp ai op.”_

_Attack her and you attack me._ It’s not the first time Lexa’s said those words. The first time, she’d saved Clarke from Quint’s attack in the forest, before being attacked by the _pauna_.

Lexa awaits a challenge, any backlash to her sweeping declaration and protection of the blonde, but there is none.

_“We must decide what to do with this poor excuse of a man, responsible for the murder of hundreds of our people, including Skaikru. Because the deaths of our people have been answered by Wanheda, when she felled the mountain, we will allow the Skaikru ambassador the ruling. Does the council have any objections?”_ Lexa questions the other 12 ambassadors, glancing between the irate representatives, wondering if any of these men or women might challenge her ruling. Once again, there is none.

Clarke steps forward, coming just an arm’s length away from Emerson. The young ambassador holds the murderous glare of the mountain man, not wanting to appear weak in front of the other room’s occupants. The _Skaikru_ ambassador challenges his stare for a few moments before she turns her back to the gathered ambassadors and addresses them in practiced _Trigedasleng_.

_“This man shall die. Jus drein jus daun.”_ Clarke proclaims his fate. There are surprised, yet pleased, nodding heads scattered throughout the mostly silent ambassadors. The few others glancing between the _Skaikru_ ambassador and their _Heda_ with skeptical expressions on their face.

Clarke takes a moment, and then turns back to Lexa.

_“With your permission Commander, I would like to address my fellow ambassadors on the rebellious Skaikru.”_ Clarke asks Lexa, a hint of fear and worry shining in her eyes, even when they both planned their delivery, hours ago, in the seclusion of Lexa’s chambers.

When Lexa nods, Clarke returns her attention to the other clan ambassadors behind her.

_“What the Skaikru have done is an attack against the Coalition, I agree with you. The traitors responsible for this war crime deserve to be punished.”_ Clarke pauses, taking a moment to judge the responses of the twelve ambassadors playing the role of judge, jury and, potentially, executioner.

A few of the ambassadors’ nod along with Clarke, agreeing so far. However, many of them regard the blonde with suspicion.

_‘Better than we first expected.’_ Lexa thinks to herself,

After taking a quick moment, Clarke continues. _“I do not ask you to avoid seeking retribution for your lost forces. I only ask for you to be agreeable when I say, ‘let us seek out the true criminals, not pass judgment on an entire clan for the actions of a few’. The men and women who committed these atrocities, they are the ones who should be tied to the tree.”_ Clarke finishes her prepared speech, opening herself for angry rebukes and, although unlikely, physical harm by an especially upset ambassador.

Instead, the room is silent. Many ambassadors have an unreadable expression upon their face. Lexa waits an agonizingly long moment, before she clears her throat and directs the 13 ambassadors’ attention back to herself. She addresses the gathered representatives.

_“What say you ambassadors of the coalition? Do the members of the council stand by our fellow ambassador? Do we seek out many for the crimes of the few or do we seek the true perpetrators?”_ Lexa pauses for a moment, allowing for the ambassadors to reflect on her words, then she takes a vote.

_“Anyone who agrees with Wanheda, please step forward.”_

At first, no one moves. The ambassadors, excluding Clarke, talk amongst themselves in smaller groups of 2 and 3. Then after a long pause, the _Trikru_ ambassador steps forward and lowers himself on his knee, bowing his head to his Commander. This seems to break the flood gates, as 8 more ambassadors soon come forward to do the same.

The final vote is 9-3.

Lexa can’t afford to express the relief flowing through her right now, she will save the celebration for later tonight, after the session has been dismissed.

_“Very well. The mountain man will be executed, tonight, beneath the city. We will reconvene this council tomorrow, two candle marks before the festivities of Ascension Day begin, to determine our plan of attack against the Skaikru.”_ Lexa decrees, leaving no room for opposition - there is none regardless.

Titus steps forward, calling for the attention of the gathered ambassadors.

_“This session is over.”_

When the _fleimkepa_ _’s_ voice booms across the chamber, Lexa notices Clarke tense slightly where she stands. Her blue eyes cut to the robed figure beside her, scrutinizing his every inch with distrust and hatred, before she looks back to the brunette. Clarke’s eyes scan Lexa as subtly as possible, moving up and down her body, as if searching for a wound or a confirmation of her continual breathing.

The odd reaction from Clarke causes Lexa to pause, her eyes flicking between her ambassador and her flamekeeper. Deciding it is a discussion best left for when she is alone with the blonde, Lexa dismisses it - for now.

The door is held open by guards posted on either side, as two more lead Emerson, kicking and screaming through his gag, to his pending execution. After the prisoner clears, the ambassadors begin to file out. Clarke stands back, waiting to be the last to leave. Before the blonde turns to leave, Lexa catches her eye and can’t help the ghost of a smile that graces her lips.

The leaders exchange a slight nod before Clarke makes her exit from the room.

 

* * *

 

There’s a knock at her door.

Clarke watches the door, starting at the rich mahogany surface as if she watches long enough, she might be able to see through it. When another knock comes a moment later, Clarke grumbles to herself and gets out of bed.

When she opens the door, she’s surprised to find Lexa, her Commander regalia wiped away and removed long ago, leaving the timid, beautiful goddess standing in her doorway. Her brunette hair cascades over her left shoulder, flowing down her front like a chestnut waterfall. Her hands rest to her sides, moving slightly with each shift in her stance as Lexa waits for Clarke to speak.

“Lexa? What are you doing?” Clarke questions the brunette.

It’s late into the night, many hours after the council had dismissed. The tower sleeps; the handmaidens are sleeping in their in-house quarters and the guards are resting or stationed at their posts. Even so, Clarke is more confused as to why Lexa knocked; this is her home, her tower.

Lexa furrows her brow.

“Did you not ask to see me when I had finished with my rounds and spoken with Titus? If you are tired or would rather postpone, I can come back-” Lexa questions the blonde, her brow scrunched slightly to indicate her confusion.

A slight chuckle escapes Clarke’s lips. “No, I just was wondering why you knocked? You shouldn’t have to request entrance, this is your tower- _Commander._ ” Clarke exclaims, adding an extra emphasis to the title.

Lexa shyly glances down at her feet, a slight pink dusting her cheeks. The brunette looks back up and clears her throat.

“It is proper etiquette, when courting someone in _Trikru_ culture, to treat them with the highest level of respect. I would never walk into your room without your permission Clarke.” Lexa states her reasoning, her cheeks blushing a deeper red now.

Clarke chuckles again, through the grin splitting her face. The blonde reaches out into the hallway, latching her hand onto Lexa’s bare bicep, and pulls the brunette into her room before shutting the door.  

“Gods, you’re cute.” 

Clarke smiles at the brunette before turning around and leading them to the two chairs in her room. However, as she begins to walk away, Lexa mutters to herself, loud enough that the blonde can hear.

“A Commander is not _cute_.”

Clarke turns back around to face the brunette, crossing her arms. She manages to catch the expression on Lexa’s face before she can hide it; her brow is furrowed slightly in defiance and she wears a small pout on her lips.

Clarke looks the Commander in the eye, wearing a smirk on her face, and lifts a single brow as if to challenge the brunette to question her again.

“Cute.” Clarke says once more. Not waiting for a response, Clarke leads them both to her seating area.

The two young leaders face one another, both now seated on the cushioned chairs. Clarke takes a moment to gather her thoughts, trying to decide the best way of going about the next conversation they need to have.

The blonde clears her throat, before taking a necessary breath.

“The _Skaikru_ will attack. Tonight.” Clarke pauses, watching Lexa for any sort of reaction.

At the mention of another attack, Lexa tenses. Her jaw clenches in concentrated anger, and her shoulders stiffen uncomfortably. Her right hand has a white-knuckled grip on the ends of her sheer nightdress. She stares back at the blonde, waiting for her to continue.

“It’s a small village, to the east of Arkadia. Located just south of a small river. Semet is the village leader.” Clarke explains, anticipating an interruption any second.

Lexa shoots up from her seated position, slipping into the mask of the Commander as easily as one’s favorite shirt.

“Lury, I know it well. I will send my fastest riders-” Lexa rushes out her preparation for a counter attack, mentally calculating the time it might take for a horse to be prepared from the Polis stalls and race full speed to the small village. A hand stopping her from rushing out of the room causes the brunette to double take.

“No wait Lexa listen, please. No _Trikru_ will be hurt.” Clarke reassures the distraught Commander.

“How can you know?” Lexa asks, seemingly too caught up in her war planning to remember their previous discussions of the day.

“It’s already happened… before.” Clarke reassures the brunette once more. “Last time, none of your people died. Octavia found out before Pike and his followers could move on Lury, they planned a trap and killed two of the _Skaikru_.” Clarke frowns to herself at the summary, upset that she must relive these deaths for a second time.

Even if Clarke had already experienced these losses previously, the hurt of losing one of the original 100, _Monroe_ , still causes a deep ache in her chest.

The room is silent. The only movement comes from flickering candlelight, as two figures shadowed in the low lighting stare the other down. Cerulean blue clashes with verdant green. Lexa’s eyes shine with defiance, her hands held behind her back itching to grab for a weapon and charge into the thick of war.

“ _Ai swega klin_. I swear to you Lexa. Trust me.” Clarke pleads.

Lexa’s shoulders deflate, if only slightly, at the sound of Clarke’s promise. She sinks back into her chair after another moment, prepared to hear the blonde out. Clarke takes this as her sign to continue her explanation.

“Alright, so as I’ve already said - the _Skaikru_ are unsuccessful. Semet evacuates all of the children and elders, staying behind with the able-bodied warriors to fight off the invaders. They use some sort of poisonous tree sap and run Pike and his followers off.” Clarke recalls the events she had been told many months ago, mostly from Semet’s explanation the first time and Octavia’s own version. “Oh- and Semet also captures Octavia. In fact, the attack has probably already occurred, it was around this time of night when Pike and his followers attacked last time, so Semet and Octavia are probably already on their way.”

Lexa stares back at the blonde ambassador, blinking a few times. Her expression can only be described as blank, or overwhelmed, or somehow both.

The two leaders sit together in silence for a long stretch of time. The only noticeable change comes from the wax piling at the base of each candle; as each wick burns slowly, time burns by that much slower.

“I do trust you Clarke.” Lexa finally breathes out, her weary expression melting back into calm assurance.

Clarke wasn’t expecting that response. She had expected distrust, a screaming match, even being threatened, but not the unyielding trust of the girl she loves.

“Oh.” Clarke replies, at a loss for words.

Lexa regards the blonde for a moment, taking in her speechlessness. A smirk forms on the brunette’s face.

“You didn’t think I’d believe you, did you _Klark_?” Lexa asks, purposely rolling her R a little more heavily, knowing the effect it has on the blonde.

Clarke laughs to herself a little at the question. “Would you, if you were in my place?” The question is rhetorical, but Lexa doesn’t seem to understand that.

A look of considering crosses Lexa’s face. “You may have a point Clarke.” The brunette agrees, seemingly deep in thought as she ponders what she might do if she were in Clarke’s position.

Clarke can’t help the affectionate smile that forms on her lips.

_‘See… cute.’_ She thinks.

Clarke clears her throat, regaining the attention of the green-eyed goddess before her.

“So, what’s this you said about _‘courting’_?” Clarke asks the brunette. Her small smile being replaced by a full-blown grin, at the heavy blush that covers the Commander’s face.

 

* * *

 

The throne was empty. Instead, it’s usual inhabitant stands shoulder to shoulder with her blonde ambassador of the 13th clan; the flamekeeper stands further away, on the opposite side of the room. Titus blends with the shadows of the room, almost staying hidden from anyone who might not be looking for the religious figure.

Lexa remains tense as she glares at the closed doors leading out of the throne room; almost commanding them to swing open and reveal Semet and Octavia, as Clarke had predicted.

Lexa had spent many hours in Clarke’s room the night before, staying until the candles had begun to burn out, and neither the ambassador, nor the Commander, could form a coherent sentence without a yawn splitting their discussion.

Clarke had retold the events of the next day, or at least what she remembers from the last time she lived through the very same day. The time-traveler explained her attempted celebration of Ascension Day, Semet’s crashing of said celebrations, and the issued blockade on the Skaikru people.

Through questioning Clarke on how the day’s events unfolded, previously, Lexa was able to gather an idea of what to expect upon Semet’s arrival, and how to plan accordingly.

When Lexa had inquired further, asking the blonde of how successful her strategy was, and if she led their people to peace and justice, Clarke had tensed, growing silent. Clarke had offered small, one-word answers from that point forward, speaking less and less until the tension in her expression appeared almost _painful_. The brunette had decided to drop the subject, at least for now.

Lexa and Clarke had awoken early in the morning, preparing for Clarke’s prediction of the day’s unfolding. The Ascension Day celebrations, as well as the meeting to decide a plan of attack regarding the traitorous _Skaikru_ , had been issued a delay of many hours, giving the two leaders time to deal with Semet, and Octavia.

 

* * *

 

The room was quiet, the only disturbance, if you could call it that, comes from the steady inhale and exhale of the Commander beside her.

Clarke stands with her shoulders stiff and her gaze focused on the throne room entrance, her mind beginning to worry she might be wrong after all, and her believed knowledge of the future no longer applied.

She had spent many hours last night explaining her recollection of today’s events to Lexa. She had done her best to describe the Ascension Day celebration ceremony - before it was interrupted by Semet - as well as the issued blockade.

The only problem came when Lexa had asked for more information regarding her tactics used; how _Skaikru_ reacted, if the blockade was effective, and even how well she led her warriors into battle.

Of course, Clarke couldn’t outright tell the brunette she played no role in the siege on Arkadia- because she wasn’t alive to witness it - the thought still causes a breath to hitch and her chest to tighten uncomfortably. The Commander would never send her people to fight without marching on the front lines herself. Instead, she replied with vague answers and began to remain silent to other questions asked.

Perhaps this was a coward’s approach, but how can the universe expect her to tell the girl she loves, the girl she kissed the last breath from, that _today_ was the day she watched her die.

Just the thought of charcoal-black blood staining her fingers and ringing gunshots cause the blonde to feel physically ill.

_Not this time. She_ _’s not dying again._  

The murmurs of heated discussion coming from outside the throne room snaps Clarke from her nightmare.

A moment later, the double doors swing open to reveal a very irate looking Semet, and a downright furious Octavia.

Semet, leading Octavia by her bound hands and arms, drags the fiery girl forward, limping with each step they take. Two guards follow them inside, while another pair position themselves at the entrance and swing the great doors shut.

Semet strides forward, before kneeling on his one good leg, and bowing his head to Lexa.

_“Forgive me Commander, but I bring you urgent news and a prisoner of war.”_ Semet exclaims.

At the mention of her status, Octavia growls, muffled by her gag, and begins to advance on Semet, only to have her bound hands yanked back by the two guards standing on either side of the prisoner.

When the young brunette realizes she isn’t going anywhere at the moment, her fury only seems to multiply, as she turns her gaze to Clarke. The captive girl urges Clarke to _do something,_ her expression torn between pleading for Clarke to speak on her behalf and demanding she convince the Commander to release her.

Clarke gives the wild girl a subtle shake of her head before returning her attention to the kneeling village leader.

Lexa, still standing next to the blonde, motions for Semet to continue.

_“Why have you brought Oktavia kom Skaikru to me as a prisoner of war?”_ Lexa directs her question to the kneeling man.

_“Her people have attacked our village, a dozen men and women sneaking into our homes in the middle of the night.”_ Semet explains.

_“How many Trikru were lost? How many Skaikru?”_ Lexa continues her questioning, eager to get as much information as she can of the attack on her people.

Semet pauses for a second before answering. _“No Trikru were lost Commander, this girl warned us before her people could attack. We were able to evacuate the village and plan for a counter attack.”_ Semet looks over to Octavia before refocusing on his Commander. _“Two Skaikru were killed in our counter.”_

Lexa’s face goes through a rush of emotional changes, all too minuscule to anyone else’s eye, only noticed by the blonde standing beside her. Clarke watches as relief and anger washes over the brunette’s calm demeanor, then a flash of realization and acceptance when Semet revealed the death of two _Skaikru_.

Semet has confirmed Clarke’s story. Her prediction, the same occurrence Clarke had predicted to her late last night, has come to fruition.

Lexa pauses for a moment before responding to the irate village head.

_“Very well, I thank you, brother, for bringing me this news. I assure you I will get justice for this outrageous attack on our people. As you may not know, the council decided, last night, to plan an attack on the Skaikru, to capture and kill the traitorous members of the clan. We will be holding council in two candle marks, to discuss our strategies for battle. I would like you to attend as well, Semet.”_ Lexa addresses the man.

“Yes Commander, thank you.” Semet mutters his response, lowing his head in gratitude and reverence. Lexa returns his nod once he looks back up, issuing him his dismissal. Once he is acknowledged, he walks to the doors, before silently slipping out.

Lexa turns to the two guards holding, a now fuming, Octavia, barely constraining the girl as she thrashes in her binds and the grips of her captors.

“Release her and show our _guest_ to a room on the visitors floor. Have a room, and a warm bath, prepared for her stay.” Lexa commands the two guards, both immediately snapping to attention as they release Octavia.

When Octavia’s gag is pulled from her mouth, she quickly fires off.

“So that’s it Clarke? You’re just going to help these people plan their attack on _our_ people? You’re just going to turn your back on us all?” Octavia spits out the comment, hurling the insults across the room at the ambassador.

“No. I’ll talk to you later and explain everything Octavia. You just have to trust me for now, I’ll stop by your room in a few hours.” Clarke reassures the fiery brunette, hardly scathed by her verbal assault, as she expected much worse.

Octavia scoffs, but as she prepares to advance on the blonde and interrogate her further, she is stopped by the same two guards.

Lexa dismisses the guards, and Octavia, with a wave of her hand. The guards seem to understand her command, as they begin to drag the young brunette from the room - kicking and screaming as she went.

When Octavia, and her guards, have cleared the room, the only ones who remain are Clarke, Lexa, and Titus.

The flamekeeper has remained oddly silent during the brief exchange, content to just listen and observe the proceedings, standing off to the side. When the doors have closed, he moves towards his Commander, casting an irritated glance at the blonde for a moment, preparing to deliver his guidance and council on the newly developed information.

At the new proximity to the religious figure, Clarke tenses. Her fingers itch to reach for a weapon at her waistband, even when there are none. She can’t help the subtle glare she works into her expression whenever she glances in his general direction; always reminded of the moment - quick as a flash - where he changed her life, and the life of everyone within the Coalition, with a pull of the trigger.

Clarke can sense the request for a private conversation with Lexa before it comes and chooses to move a few steps away. Immediately a quick exchange of harsh whispers and glares thrown in Clarke’s direction fills the air of the room.

The blonde waits idly by the door, watching the exchange and returning each glare the bald man directs at her. 

When the over-glorified priest and the Commander finish their exchange, Titus shoots Clarke another deadly look, a promise of things to come shining in his dull grey eyes, before he swiftly moves across the room and slips out the doors.

The look Titus had aimed towards her catches in Clarke’s mind. It’s eerily reminiscent of his expression before he acted on his assassination attempt- last time. His eyes were alight with fury and disgust, as if Clarke were a recurring pest problem that needed to be exterminated. It’s a quick look, a few seconds of pointed hatred from the man, and Clarke knows.

 

_He's going to be a problem._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there ya go, I hope you enjoyed it. I kind of foreshadow a few things, as well as plan a few secretive twists and turns, that will come here soon.  
> I don't want to spoil TOO much but I will say this, next chapter... we deal with Titus. It will be fun (for me).
> 
> Thanks for reading, if you got this far! Please feel free to leave a kudo/comment, or don't (all good either way).
> 
> Much love everybody!
> 
> P.S. I cannot believe we're damn near 300 kudos on this thing, that's just WOW. Thank you all so much, it means way more than I can express in paragraph form.


	5. Grasp Every Little Bit (of Happiness)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continues almost directly after the end of chapter 4.
> 
> Clarke (and Lexa) have a discussion with Octavia, a few cute(ish) fluff Clexa moments & Clarke and Lexa FINALLY TALK.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, sorry for the longer wait on this one than the previous chapters. I've been busy with starting a new job, plus starting an extra class, on top of my already busy semester. I also didn't have computer access for about a week while I was on spring break. 
> 
> Oh well, we press on!
> 
> I know I mentioned we would deal with Titus (FUCKING FINALLY) in this chapter... but, I kind of wanted to deal with that next chapter, because I felt like the clexa convo was a perfect stopping point. (Also if I included the Titus showdown, and the necessary following moments) the chapter was about 12K words and I didn't want to jump from a 5K ch to a 12K. 
> 
> Anyways, I digress. I hope you enjoy this chapter. As always, there is no beta reader - just myself. I'd be willing to pick one up if anyone is interested, just comment or something. (*cough* Tumblr *cough*)

Clarke never got a chance to speak with Lexa, their short discourse being interrupted when the brunette was called away to settle some minor dispute. Lexa had asked her to go see to Octavia and explain what will happen tonight in more detail.

Clarke didn’t want to leave Lexa’s side, especially on today of all days, but without an excuse, she went to go find Octavia - _at least Titus had already stormed off to sulk_.

She knows Titus will have to be dealt with, today - or tonight, after the meeting and Ascension Day celebrations. She’d spent hours in bed last night, lying awake, staring at the ceiling, just hoping a full-proof plan might formulate onto the bland surface.

She’ll probably need to bring it up with Lexa - _strength in numbers_ and all.

 

* * *

 

When Clarke enters the quarters, nearly bumping into the guard positioned just inside the door, she takes in the guest bedroom. It’s a simple layout. A bed, a single chair, a small dresser, and various candles placed around the room to cast it into light.

Lying on the single bed, with her irritated glare focused on the uninteresting ceiling - and she would know - is Octavia. The young brunette’s face is twisted into a grimace, her hands play with the hem of her shirt, and her legs idly swing back and forth from the foot of the bed.

After a moments pause, Clarke walks to the foot of the bed, glancing down at Octavia as she continues to ignore her and watch the same patterns above, showing her age for a second.

When Octavia refuses to acknowledge her after a few moments, Clarke turns to the posted guard, waving her hand in a dismissal as she excuses him.

_“Gon we.”_

It’s a gamble, but she hopes her position as ambassador, as well as any power Lexa might have granted her within the walls of the tower, will be enough for him to listen. It works.

When the room is vacant, bar Clarke and an increasingly irate Octavia, she finally gets the brunette’s attention.

“Even the guards listen to you? Making yourself cozy with the Commander again huh?” Octavia’s words are dripping with venom, her pointed glare now directed at the blonde.

Not exactly the kind of acknowledgment she wanted, but hey - it’s progress.

Clarke rolls her eyes, having predicted she’d be greeted by the immature and quick-fire Octavia she remembered from before.

“Good to see you too, O.” Clarke says patronizingly.

Octavia, it seems, is not amused.

Before she can even blink, Octavia is up in a flash, her previous nonchalance and lazy attitude apparently a charade. One moment, she’s standing at the foot of the bed, and the next, she’s been shoved against the wall closest to her, an arm twisted behind her back and a knife - she doesn’t even want to know where Octavia hid the thing - is pressed to her throat.

She can’t control the startled yelp that escapes her, or the instinctive reaction to push back against her apparent captor, only to stop and hiss lowly when the pressure against her throat increases.

“What are you doing Octavia?” Clarke grits out, attempting to crane her neck around and lock eyes with the brunette.

“I could ask you the same thing, _traitor_.” Octavia’s voice is venomous. “Why are you helping Lexa plot against your own people?” The knife at her jugular presses even more, creating the slightest nick at her throat.

For a moment, Clarke is nervous - unsure of how she should approach this Octavia. A younger Octavia, less wise and more irrational in her decision making. This Octavia was still torn between two people. This Octavia still had everything to lose, still had Lincoln to lose.

Before she can formulate any sort of appeasing response, the door bangs open.

Clarke is jerked around to face the door, Octavia, now standing behind her, still holding the knife to her throat.

In the doorway two guards take in the scene, the younger of the two, a dark-haired boy still growing into his armor, glances back and forth between the two girls uneasily. The two exchange hushed conversations, before the younger boy rushes out of sight, somewhere down the hall. The other, a more brutish man, lowers his spear, pointing it at Octavia, but remains in the doorway to contain.

A moment of silence passes, then another. The only sound comes from the blood ringing in Clarke’s ears and the uneven breaths from the girl over her shoulder.

“O, what are you doing? What do you hope to accomplish here? Just let me go so we can talk.” Clarke uses a soothing voice, or as soothing a voice as she can muster considering her current predicament.

There’s no response immediately, then Octavia’s grip softens, just enough for Clarke to breathe a little easier.

“Why should I?” Octavia responds, still reluctant to trust the blonde. “So I can let you go back to the _Commander_ and you two can wipe out all of Arkadia?” The brunette scoffs.

Clarke is about to respond, her rebuttal on the tip of her tongue, when a familiar brunette enters the room.

“Lexa.” Clarke gasps out, equally breathless from the grip on her neck as well as the effortless beauty the Commander enters the room with

“Clarke.” Lexa nods back, the mask of _Heda_ firmly in place as she assesses the situation.

 

* * *

 

It seems neither she or Clarke will get any breaks today.

After dealing with Semet and telling Clarke to go handle Octavia for now - they could meet later, Lexa had gone back to the throne room. Eager to finish preparations for the upcoming Ambassador’s meeting, she failed to notice a robed figure lurking in the shadows. Titus had cornered her, the irate _fleimkepa_ using the most recent attack against Semet’s village as an excuse to forgo any planned attack and just unleash the wrath of an entire coalition upon Arkadia.

When she had declined, impatient to consult Clarke on what their next steps should be - and to check on Clarke’s wellbeing after such a verbal lashing from someone she cares about - Titus had continued to press her, claiming Clarke as her reasoning for protecting the _Skaikru_.

 

\--------

 

_With no desire to deal with Titus and his incessant preaching today, she begins to walk towards the door._

_A hand on her arm stops her._

_Lexa pauses, surprised and, a moment later, furious._

_She snaps her head to the offender, leveling Titus with an otherworldly glare that many Ambassadors have found themselves on the receiving end of - before being kicked from the balcony down to the streets below._

_Titus, to his credit, seems just as surprised at his actions as Lexa was, his shocked expression mirroring her inner thoughts. He removes the offending hand, immediately hiding both of his arms back inside the robes denoting his status._

_“I apologize Heda. I just worry for you. The influence this Skaikru girl holds over you-” Titus pauses, his face twisting into a hard grimace after nearly spitting out his distaste for Clarke. “Love is weakness Heda, I urge you to remember my teachings."_

_Lexa turns to face Titus, her expression slipping back into the neutral indifference that Clarke had dubbed_ _“Mask of the Commander”._

_“I grow tired of these teachings Titus. Did we not have this very same conversation just days ago? Do you not remember?” Lexa stops, taking in the abashed expression that covers her Flamekeeper, his eyes pointed down in respect and acknowledgment._

 

_It’s a small victory, but one she will take._

 

_Satisfied, Lexa begins to walk to the door, leaving Titus alone as if he is a petulant child who must think about what they have done wrong. Just a few steps from the door, a thought crosses her mind. Lexa stops and turns to find Titus watching her go._

_“Perhaps your mind is already failing you in your older age. Perhaps it is time to begin training a new Fleimkepa to resume your duties?”_

_It’s a threat to his position, hidden within a juvenile attack on his character. A threat, she knows, Titus will comprehend undoubtedly. She sweeps out of the room, her coat flapping slightly with her quick pace._

 

\--------

 

Unfortunately, she hadn’t made it 2 steps down the hall before one of her younger guard trainees came running, only to come crashing to a halt when the two guards flanking her leveled their spears at the man, a potential threat to their Commander.

Doubled over and gasping for breath, the young man -  if the lack of facial hair and lanky body filling his gear are anything to go by - looked up at her before rushing out his explanation in between deep breaths.

_“Wanheda - the Skaikru girl - knife to her throat"_

It’s barely a sentence, but it’s enough for her concern to skyrocket. Before the winded guard could finish, she had already taken off, sprinting to the stairwell, down four flights of stairs, and through another long hallway.

Lexa arrived at the scene, taking in four of her men with their weapons leveled at the doorway. Her presence causing them to part to either side of the hall as she entered the bedroom.

She quickly scans the room, giving herself time to form a plan and process the sight before her.

Clarke, with a knife at her throat, is bent back at an odd angle to account for the slightly smaller stature of Octavia. She doesn’t look scared, more annoyed with the situation than anything, and yet, she can’t help the fear that courses through her at the danger Clarke faces.

Octavia’s face is hard to read. There is a definite level of fury etched into her face, combined with the familiar determination that followed the young brunette wherever she went. However, what catches her eye is the sweat beading between her brows, the nervous glances between Clarke’s head and the Commander in front of her. It’s subtle, and only there if you’re looking, but Lexa sees the tell-tell signs of nervousness, and she knows.

Octavia doesn’t want to do this.

“Octavia is there a reason you are holding a knife to my Ambassador’s throat?” Lexa is stoic, her voice gives nothing away as she locks with Octavia over Clarke’s shoulder.

Octavia fidgets in place, shaking slightly from the commanding voice of Lexa.

“She’s a traitor. _Natrona._ We trusted her and now she’s helping _you_ plot against us all.” Octavia tightens her grip on the blonde.

Preparing to talk to wild girl down, Lexa takes a step forward only to pause and look behind her when she hears murmurs from the hallway.

There, standing between her battle-trained warriors, Titus looks on, watching the event unfold with an unfamiliar glint in his eye. An odd behavior from the man she’d trained under for most of her life, one she’s never seen before.

Lexa shakes her head, turning back to the Clarke, when she notices something else in Clarke’s eyes. She’s scared. Her face is frozen in a mix between fear and concern, her eyes never wavering from the source - _Titus_.

Clarke watches Titus as if he’s a wild animal that escaped its cage, prowling and playing with its prey before striking. Her eyes continually search the bald man’s figure in the doorway - flicking up and down, up and down, again and again - as if she expects him to pull a sword from the inner cuff of his robes.

It’s unsettling. In all her time spent in the Clarke’s presence, she’s only seen the blonde this distraught on two other occasions. The first time, Clarke killed the boy she loved, to save him from an even crueler death.

The second, occurred at the mountain. The moment Clarke realized she’d taken a deal, the moment she realized Lexa had betrayed her. When Clarke knew, when she saw it in Lexa’s eyes - the sad acceptance etched into her face - the shine of Clarke’s eyes, her tear-filled blue orbs that grew wide with pleading for help and fear for her friends inside the mountain.

It’s a look she never wanted to see again, and it’s the very same look coming from the blonde now. It’s deeply concerning, but it’s something to deal with later.

“Octavia, what do you hope to achieve in killing Clarke?” Lexa asks. “She single-handedly saved the _Skaikru_ from complete annihilation last night, many of my ambassadors, and the people they represent, want our armies to lay waste to Arkadia. She talked them down."

Octavia pauses for a second, surprised at this new knowledge. Her eyes blinking slowly as her brow knit together.

Clarke’s focus remains on Titus, tuning out the conversation around her, not even showing her discomfort of having a knife at her throat. Her eyes track his every movement, never shifting away.

Deciding this might be easier if Clarke helped her talk her assailant down, she turns back to Titus and the remaining guards.

_“Gon we.”_ Lexa waves the gathered audience away.

The assembled crowd disperses, ever loyal to their commander. The guards lower their weapons and march off, moving further down the hall before disappearing around a corner.

Only Titus lingers, hesitant to leave the Commander alone with Octavia, and perhaps Clarke as well, only leaving when Lexa levels him with a harsh, commanding glare, daring him to defy her.

Lexa crosses the room, peeking her head out to ensure the hall is vacant, before closing the door with a soft _click_.

When she turns around and checks on Clarke once more, the relief that has washed over her face is both comforting and concerning. Once again setting that aside for a discussion later, Lexa turns back to Octavia.

 

* * *

 

The instant relief that washes over Clarke when Lexa shuts the door is overwhelming. Her body relaxes as she exhales the breath she’d been holding for nearly two minutes.

She’d been confident in her ability to calm Octavia down from doing anything to heinous, and even more so when Lexa had shown up, but the moment Titus moved into the doorway her entire world stopped.

She’s not sure if it was some form of P.T.S.D, or perhaps her own nerves increasing with the pressure of the moment, but having Titus in the same room as Lexa, within a few steps, within _shooting distance_ , caused her to freeze up.

There’s a long moment, a stretch of time she can’t remember, where her entire world is just a blurred vision of Titus as he stands in the doorway. A lone figure, mocking her, reminding her of past failures.

When Titus walks away, Clarke can finally breathe again. The blonde relaxes far too much for someone with a knife to their throat.

Octavia’s voice behind her pulls Clarke from her own mind.

“I don’t understand- Why did you send them all away?”

Lexa’s calm and reassuring voice is a welcome gift in the moment. The mask of _Heda_ slipped on as she studies Octavia, taking a few seconds before addressing the girl.

“Because, Octavia, we both know you won’t kill Clarke. She is, or was once, your friend, and I know you care for her too much to do her any harm.”

She can’t see Octavia’s face, but based off the flicker of a smile that ghosts Lexa’s lips, she can only assume Octavia’s response was desirable.

There’s a pregnant pause. Lexa’s eyes watch hers, before flicking over her shoulder to Octavia’s. Back and forth they go, transitioning from a cool and calculating to a warm and caring, quicker than a blink.

Eventually Clarke feels the grip on her arms loosen, and then she’s roughly shoved in the direction of Lexa. Before Clarke can hit the floor, lithe arms spring out to catch her, helping the blonde stand properly before loosening her hold.

Green meets blue, concerned eyes meet with calm reassuring ones. Clarke takes a moment, just a quick second of the day, to nod to the brunette, letting Lexa know she’s alright, before taking her place beside the Commander and addressing Octavia.

“Now, before you cut me off last time, I came to talk to you about what you heard in the throne room Octavia.” Clarke admonishes the young brunette, scolding her as if she’s the mother and Octavia her unruly child.

“I’m not plotting against our people Octavia, only the traitors. I convinced the ambassadors that only the guilty, Pike’s followers, should be punished for their crimes, not all of Arkadia.” Clarke reassures the fiery girl, Lexa nodding along to her brief summary.

Octavia stands feet from her, grip firm on her knife, as her brows scrunch in confusion. The fiery girl’s eyes flick between the two leaders, as if waiting for one of them to attack and - _oh_. Clarke can’t help the grin that appears on her lips.

“We’re not going to attack you O, you’re not in trouble.”

Octavia shifts her focus to Clarke fully, her brows further knitted. “I- I’m not?” She pauses. “I attacked an ambassador, isn’t that a crime worthy of death, especially in _Polis_?”

“Normally yes, but I’ve spoken with Lexa about you. I explained to her you might do something brash before thinking the consequences through - although I’d prefer you don’t almost kill me next time.” Clarke smiles.

“You did? But- why?” Octavia crosses her arms, dropping the knife to the bedroom floor before doing so.

Lexa beats her to it, although her words are much more clipped.

“You’re _special,_ or according to Clarke, you are important to the downfall of Pike and his foot-soldiers.”

Octavia relaxes at that, if only slightly, finally comprehending she might not be killed for her previous stunt.

Clarke takes a small step forward, capturing the attention of the room, before sticking her arm towards her brunette friend. “Are we okay now? Lexa and I have some things to discuss before the ambassador’s meeting later, and we can’t do that here.”

Octavia nods, stepping forward to shake the blonde’s arm in a traditional grounder greeting, before stepping back and leaning against the nearby wall.

Clarke, satisfied with Octavia’s situation for now, steps back before turning away and heading towards the door. Just before she leaves the room, her hand resting on the handle of the now open door, she hears a murmured conversation from behind.

Lexa’s voice is eerily calm - _deadly_ \- as she addresses the other girl.

“You live because Clarke wills it. I do not give second chances often _Okteivia kom Skaikru_ , so I expect you to use it wisely.”

Octavia’s response alludes her, but she can hear an affirming hum from Lexa that assures Clarke there was an answer given.

Then, even quieter than before, Lexa speaks again.

“I also expect you to refrain from putting my Clarke in harm’s way.” A slight pause, and then, “If you, or any other _Skaikru_ , hurt her, it will not be my armies that lay waste to your camp. It will be me.”

Lexa sweeps from the room without a response from Octavia, her eyes gleaming with dangerous promises.

Clarke looks over her shoulder to appraise Octavia’s reaction.

The brunette’s eyes are comically wide and the quizzical expression she regards Clarke with is laughable, a mix between respect and fear all combined by overwhelming confusion.

Clarke responds her with a quick wink and a smile, before turning back to the door and chasing after Lexa, shutting the door on her way out.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, Clarke is freshly bathed and changed. The handmaidens assigned to her had brought her another eloquent dress, somehow managing to incorporate the style of _Trikru_ armor and beauty of their culture.

The dress ends around her knees, tight to her legs, but flexible and comfortable enough to be worn in combat. It’s a deep, forest green, a mixture of lighter shades fading out towards the neckline.

Her war paint has been re-applied, the same pattern from the summit all those months ago - _days ago_ now, and her hair was braided, intricate twists and ties holding her hair back.

Stepping into the hallway, Clarke finds herself standing outside Lexa’s chambers, knuckles raised to knock before thinking better of it and pushing the double doors open, entering without announcing herself.

That was a mistake it seems. Clarke isn’t prepared for the sight she walks in on.

Lexa, standing before the open balcony doors, the mid-afternoon light surrounding her, casting an almost ethereal glow to the Commander.

A very _naked_ Commander.

Lexa stands there, watching Clarke’s expression, in all her naked glory. The only part of the girl not exposed are her eyes. Lexa softly running a cloth over her finished war paint, tidying any smudges and other imperfections. A muscle memory at this point for the brunette.

Clarke can’t help her wandering eyes, slowly trailing up sinewy legs and chiseled abs, stopping briefly on her uncovered breasts, before continuing their trail. When she reaches Lexa’s eyes, those damn green pools of emotion, Clarke can see the smile shining through, further amplified by the smirk on her face.

“Is there something you need ambassador?” Lexa asks. Her voice suggesting, she is _Heda_ in this moment, a show for the guards who might overhear outside. However, her eyes say something entirely different.

Lexa regards her with _hunger_ , eyes appraising Clarke’s figure in the form-fitting attire. Lexa’s gaze roams her figure, stopping for just a moment on the slight dip of her neckline, before refocusing on Clarke’s eyes.

Clarke clears her throat, her face and chest burning a deep scarlet. “Yes, _Heda_ , I had hoped you might have a moment to discuss the upcoming ambassadorial meeting.” She says lamely, frowning at herself.

Lexa huffs a breathy laugh, crossing the room and taking Clarke’s - suddenly clammy – hand, before leading them to the couch.

Clarke tries to hold Lexa’s gaze, but she’s human and can’t help the few slips before catching herself and returning her attention to Lexa, the girl’s amused expression increasing with each slip.

“Don’t you want to put some clothes on or something?” Clarke whispers, her face growing even hotter, if that were even possible.

“I could, but the maidens will have my ceremonial ware brought to me shortly. I prefer to remain nude, it is “ _my tower_ _”_ after all, if I do recall you telling me last night.” Lexa replies, her brow raised in mock question, a shit-eating grin splitting her face.

Clarke huffs, lightly shoving the brunette beside her. The girl’s grin only deepens, her eyes crinkling slightly with her amused expression.

Clarke finds herself captivated by Lexa’s smile and amusement. The girl looks somehow more beautiful with a smile gracing her lips.

_Who knew the Commander of the 13 Clans had a sense of humor?_

* * *

They talk for a short time after that, Lexa remaining nude the entire time. Eventually the handmaidens show, 4 young women dressed in white garb, hauling behind an even more intricate dress than Clarke’s own.

Not long after, the two leaders walk side by side, trailed by Lexa’s guards, as they head for the throne room, preparing for the ambassadors meeting that is soon to begin.

Just as they round the final corner, a gravelly voice Clarke would recognize anywhere drifts towards her - _Titus._

He stands in the throne room doorway, conversing with another guard in hushed tones, seemingly waiting for his Commander to arrive.

The reaction is immediate. Clarke stops mid-step, one foot in front of the other, before she can stop herself. Her eyes remain on Titus, subconsciously afraid if she lets him out of her sights - even for a second - it will be too late.

She tunes out Lexa, the girl addressing her quietly, worriedly, before she gives up conversation all together. A moment later, however, Clarke feels her hand being taken and her body dragged towards a room to the side of the empty hallway.

Lexa tugs the door open, pulling Clarke inside, before walking in calmly and shutting the door behind her.

Clarke takes a moment to appraise her new surroundings. There are shelves against every wall of the room, covered in various linens and materials. Rough tools and other contraptions rest in the corners or on hooks in the wall.

A storage closet.

Clarke looks around her once more before turning her attention to Lexa, to find an angry brunette - or at the very least, annoyed.

She’s certainly upset with her, of that Clarke is certain, and for the life of her she can’t figure out _why?_

The tension in the room is palpable. The silence so heavy with unsaid concerns, that you might be able to reach out and touch it. Both leaders stand resolute on opposite ends of the small closet, waiting for the other to make the first move. Nothing is said. The sound barrier of the cupboard remains unbroken. Each second ticks by slower than the last, as two figures wait for the other to take hold of the conversation.

Clarke studies the Commander before her, as the brunette does the very same. Where Clarke’s shoulders are tight with stress and concern, Lexa’s are taut in an attempt of restraining herself. Wild green eyes look Clarke up and down, settling on her blue ones for a second before resuming her analysis of the blonde ambassador.

After what seems like hours, Lexa concedes the verbal standoff, preparing to take the offensive in their conflict.

“What is it Clarke?” Lexa questions her, watching the blonde with a familiar stubborn determination.

Clarke tilts her head in questioning, as if pretending to ponder what Lexa might mean. She knows. “What do you-”

Lexa isn’t having it. “Why are you refusing to leave my side today? Why do you freeze and panic in Titus’s presence? Why are you constantly watching him like he is your enemy? Why won’t you tell me what troubles you Clarke?”

As Lexa fired off each question, she’s also moved towards the blonde; a step with every question asked. The short distance between the two women becomes even shorter; a few feet turns into standing chest to chest, breathing the same air, holding the other’s eyes.

Clarke remains stoic in her expression - while she shakes and _trembles_ on the inside, her determination wavering slightly - staring back at the Commander with a practiced innocence.

“I don’t know what you mean Lexa. If there was something wrong, I would tell you.” Clarke says, adding a little steel - a little more bite - to her voice, hoping the brunette might back off.

It’s not like she wants to lie to Lexa, but this isn’t something she can just bring up - she’s not sure she wants to. How does she tell the woman she loves, she died - today - all those months ago? How does she sit Lexa down and explain that Titus, the very man who helped to raise her since she was a small child, is the one who kills her?

How does she look Lexa in the eye when she blames herself for the brunette’s death?

Lexa remains adamant. “No Clarke, we’re not doing this. If he has threatened you in some way, I need to know. How else do you expect me to protect you? Why are you lying to me? Why now?” Lexa’s face is stoic, but softens slightly, as it always does, when she finds herself in Clarke’s presence.

Lexa stares her down, determined to get an honest answer from Clarke. For many moments they hold one another’s glare, matching the others with a dark expression and unflinching stare. It’s only after a few minutes that Clarke breaks; when Clarke’s eyes begin to water - torn between telling the truth and protecting Lexa from it - the blonde breaks their connection, shifting her gaze to the floor as the tears threaten to pour.

_“Klark.”_  Lexa’s voice is different now, the anger and annoyance has burned away to leave a soft reverence.

Clarke can’t bring herself to look at those deep green eyes again. Not when she finds herself getting lost in glowing forest orbs, entranced, and prepared to spill all her secrets. The very same secrets that leave her conscious guilty and her dreams as nightmares - the same nightmare, every night.

A warm hand touches her face. Lithe fingers grip her chin before guiding blue eyes to meet green once more.

Lexa studies the blonde with a slightly quizzical look, trying to understand why Clarke is upset by her questioning.

“Clarke,” Lexa’s voice is soft, loving even, “you have to tell me what troubles you.

She wants to tell her - oh how she does, but at the same time, the very thought of explaining Lexa’s death to _Lexa,_ seems like an impossibility.

Clarke’s response only comes as a murmured “no” and a quick shake of her head, closing her eyes to avoid the askance green ones that seem to reach her very soul.

There’s a moment of silence, the only sounds coming from the sniffling blonde as she works to regain her bearings. Lexa continues to hold Clarke’s chin between her forefinger and her thumb, stroking the blonde’s chin slightly as she attempts to calm and reassure her love.

When the blonde’s silence stretches on for too long, Lexa adjusts her hold. A second hand reaches up to hold Clarke’s face, delicately and with a loving touch, on either side.

“Clarke, please. I need you to talk to me, I promise I can help. Please. _Beja_.”

When Lexa holds her, her soft yet battle-hardened palms warming her cheeks, something in Clarke _breaks_. Her resolve, perhaps, or her willingness to continually lie to the love of her life. Some part of the blonde’s conscious decides enough is enough.

Clarke reaches up to guide Lexa’s palms away from her face, giving each of the brunette’s wrists a reassuring squeeze before releasing altogether. The blonde steels herself before glancing up.

When blue locks with green, when nerves and uncertainty is welcomed by a warm embrace of comfort and understanding, Clarke decides.

 

Lexa deserves to know.

 

“You’re right,” Clarke begins, her voice indifferent, a complete contrast to the warring _“don’t do it”_ and _“she deserves to know”_ battling for dominance in her mind, “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

Lexa nods, encouraging the blonde to continue. Clarke clears her throat, fighting the shaking of her voice.

“Today, _last time,_ ” Clarke must remind Lexa, and herself, this was the past, it _won_ _’t_ happen again; she’ll make sure of it, “Titus made a move against me. He worried of my powers and influence I held over you, and decided it’d be best if I wasn’t around.”

At the mention of her adviser, and his apparent desire to harm Clarke, a slight glimpse of realization and understanding crosses Lexa’s face, followed directly by annoyance and anger.

“He attacked you?” Lexa clarifies, her voice steeled with the promise of retribution.

Instead of giving a definite answer, she waves the girl off, continuing to tell her story.

“He uh- he had, or probably still has, Murphy, one of the first 100, locked in the Flame’s sanctuary.” Clarke sets the stage, hardening her nerves for the story she knows Lexa must hear. “Titus tried to get information about me, and about the _Skaikru,_ from Murphy by torturing him, and when that didn’t work, he attempted to use Murphy as a scapegoat to assassinate me.”

Lexa’s face is unreadable, her eyes never leaving Clarke’s - not even blinking - as she focuses on every word, every syllable, expressed by the blonde.

After a pregnant pause, Clarke continues.

“When I entered my room, later that evening, Titus had Murphy tied to a bedpost. He waited in the shadows until I went to untie Murphy, so he had me trapped. I tried to reason with him, to let me leave, but he was determined.”

Clarke pauses once more, readying herself and allowing Lexa a moment to digest the information she’d just revealed.

Lexa’s jaw twitches with anger and her eyes burn with a fury that Clarke can’t even recognize, as she holds Clarke’s stare, nodding at the blonde for her to finish her tale.

“His plan was simple, kill me with a _Skaikru_ weapon, a gun, and then blame it on Murphy. Titus thought you might be upset enough to declare war on _Skaikru,_ without my influence over you.” Clarke grimaces, knowing what comes next.

During her explanation, Lexa’s fury has been nearly tangible. Her eyes are blown with rage and her expression is that of a warlord ready to lead her army to glory. The brunette’s grip on the dagger at her hip is ironclad, and her jaw works back and forth in a forceful grind to her teeth.

However, when Clarke pauses, the brunette does the very same. Her expression shifting, if only slightly, to a quizzical anger.

“Wait,” Lexa stops the already silent blonde, seemingly just catching on to something, “if Titus attacked you in the past, and you came back from months into the future, then he clearly failed.”

The warlord works through her own thoughts, processing what the blonde is telling her, and also what she _isn_ _’t_.

“Why would you not want to share that with me Clarke? You’re unsafe if he plans to attack you again. I can have him summoned, and dealt with, without risking you any harm.” Lexa still seems angry, but some of that anger has burned away to reveal a determined, if not slightly confused, Commander.

Clarke can’t help the tears that build in her eyes, no matter how she tries to stop their inevitable flow. Before the dam can break, before the pools can overfill, the blonde soldiers on, hiccupping and shuddering for breath as she concludes her story.

“No, Titus didn’t kill me. He failed. It turns out, when you’ve never used a _Skaikru_ weapon before, you tend to have poor aim.” Clarke smiles slightly at her attempted humor, the minute facial expression dying long before it can reach teary eyes. “Titus missed the first two shots, and then I stunned him by throwing a chair at him, before I made a run for it. When I got to the door, he shot at me again- and he- he hit.”

Clarke can’t get the words out, too choked up to remain intelligible. Her entire body shakes as quiet sobs wrack her figure.

She sees it, the moment Lexa realizes what happened next. The moment Lexa understands she would be the one standing in the door, rushing to check on the girl she loves. The flash of realization is quick, only a slight change where the brunette’s brows raise and her bottom lip drops, as if her expression forms the _‘oh’_ that won’t escape her lips. A moment later, her face is schooled and hardened, as if Lexa has just accepted her fate.

_No. That_ _’s not happening._

Clarke launches forward into her love’s arms, tucking her tear-stained face into the crook of Lexa’s neck, holding onto the morbid girl with every bit of strength she can muster.

Lexa is quick to return her embrace, wrapping her arms around the distraught girl.

“Shh Clarke, it will be alright. Things will happen as fate dictates. We need not worry about such trivial matters.” Lexa’s voice is a calm reassurance, as if her impending death is something she must accept.

While it’s exactly the response Clarke expected, it still angers her. Clarke jerks out of Lexa’s arms suddenly, staring back at the brunette with a cold anger.

“No!” Clarke’s tone is vehement, her voice showing the panic and anger coursing through her. “I won’t accept that, I refuse to accept that. You’re not dying. I don’t care what Gods you believe in, what spirit says it to be true, or what fates have decided.”

Clarke takes a slight pause, gaging the expression of her love, before continuing.

“I’m not sure who, or what, I believe in, but I know this: I was given a second chance, an opportunity to correct my mistakes and right the wrongs of the past, when I was sent back in time. My biggest mistake, my biggest regret, was losing you.”

Clarke reaches forward to take one of Lexa’s limp hands at her side, brushing her thumb over scarred and battle-hardened skin.

“Lex, I know I’ve already told you, but I guess I need to tell you again. _Ai hod yu in. Ai keryon. Ai tombom._ ” Clarke squeezes Lexa’s hand with each term of endearment. “You are the reason I was sent back. Some higher being, some holy entity, gave me another chance, and I plan to take advantage of this gift. I don’t care what battles we face, or what trials we have to overcome, I’m not losing you again. I’m not leaving you again.”

Clarke’s eyes burn with an unfaltering certainty, her gaze locked with Lexa’s, challenging her to disagree.

When Lexa responds, she wears a neutral expression, slipping into the mask of _Heda_ effortlessly.

“Okay _Klark_. So, we fight.” Lexa returns Clarke’s embrace, squeezing their joined hands as she gives the blonde a reassuring nod. Granting her a glimpse of a smile, one that grows even more when Clarke smiles back.

 

Their chances are bleak. Numerous obstacles and enemies await them within the next hours, days, and weeks to come. Whole groups of people want either of them, if not both, dead. The odds are stacked against them and yet, Clarke knows.

They’re going to make it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank each and every one of you who took the time to read this fic, and this chapter specifically. It means so much to me that others enjoy my creations. Feel free to yell at me in the comments, or on Tumblr, or shout into the emptiness of your room and I just might hear it. :)
> 
> Have a great day!


	6. We Both Want to Do the Right Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War Room Meetings, Hostages in the Sanctuary, Accidental Injuries, & Clarke Tells All.
> 
> Clarke's plan of attack for the Skaikru is put in place.
> 
> Murphy is rescued?
> 
> We FINALLY deal with Titus!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. So, this is later than I wanted it to be (a whole two weeks between updates) but it was a necessary wait. I'll explain why it has taken so long in the notes below if anyone cares. 
> 
> Anyways, this is the chapter I've been most excited about for a lot of reasons. Firstly, Titus finally gets what he deserves. Also, this is a sort of integral moment to my story, as it is planned so far. The finale of this chapter will mark a sort of turning point for Clarke and Lexa, as well as the story plot and progression. You'll see what I'm talking about it later chapters (I hope.)
> 
> Enjoy the chapter! If you have any comments, criticisms, general statements, or even favorite recipes for banana pudding, feel free to leave them in the comments below!
> 
> Tumblr: CharacterStructure (same as my Ao3)

The war room holds an exciting, yet nerve-racking, ambiance. Generals, strategists, and ambassadors of the Coalition flood into the room, standing around the long table that centers the small space. The wooden stand is covered in maps, diagrams and news or concerns regarding each of the 12 clans.

Lexa stands at the head of the table, her emerald green eyes donning the familiar Commander’s pattern in charcoal paint, remaining silent as the groups of generals and observers plan and discuss strategies. Titus, always present at her side in a formal or official meeting such as this, remains impassive to her right.

To her left, Clarke shifts from foot to foot, her eyes downcast as she seems to be lost in her own thoughts. The blonde fidgets with the hem of her top, a nervous habit Lexa had noticed during the planning at Mount Weather. A few threatening glances are thrown Clarke’s way, generals from various clans unable to hide their contempt for _Skaikru._

When the _Trishanakru_ ambassador walks into the room, the final representative necessary to begin the session, the guards posted at the entrance swing the double doors shut, signaling for the meeting to commence.

An all-encompassing hush washes over the room, everyone directing their respective attentions to their Commander.

Lexa raises her chin ever so slightly, clenching her jaw as she surveys the room. Green eyes sweep the room, stopping on each ambassador for a few seconds before continuing her count. She stops on Clarke for a second too long, her stare softer and more pleasant as she holds the blonde’s eyes. The brunette gives her a ghost of a smile, a quick reassurance for the nervous ambassador, before shifting her attention back to the gathered mass.

A familiar brunette catches her eyes, _Octavia_.

The hot-headed sky girl leans against the far wall, her eyes boring into Lexa’s own. The glare remains steadfast and fueled with hatred, however, the look holds less ire than usual. A newfound sense of respect, or acceptance, seems to lurk in her pale green eyes, the scowl on Octavia’s face reduced to a slight frown.

Another sweep of the room brings more familiar faces. Indra, Semet, and her _natblidas_ , a valuable teaching moment being had for the future Conclave participants, all spread throughout the chamber.

A straightening of her spine and stiffening of her shoulders are the only indications given before their Commander speaks.

_“We come together once again, as we have many times before, to plan an attack on our enemies. Wanheda joins us today, a loyal ambassador to the Coalition and her clan, seeking to aid us in capturing and punishing the traitorous Skaikru. These cowards, Pike and his foot-soldiers, have committed treacherous acts of murdering a group of 300 peacekeeping units, and attacking the village of Lury.”_

Lexa takes a pause, sweeping her gaze across the room as she reads the emotions of everyone gathered. At the newly revealed information of _another_ attack by the _Skaikru_ , many of the already irritated groups become even more angry. One general, his youth and immaturity showing in the moment, voices his outrage, speaking out of turn to lead an accusation towards Clarke.

_“Another attack, and yet we only plan to kill a dozen men and women in retribution for our losses? What about the village lost when 100 children were sent down and destroyed our lands? The warriors who died in the siege of their crashed ship? The 300 warriors burned by a single girl, killing fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, with the flip of a switch!”_

The outspoken general draws the attention of the room, his white furs and scarred face signifying his origins immediately - _Azgeda_. Some of the other generals and ambassadors nod along to his rant, seemingly agreeing with anything that might prove that _all Skaikru_ are the enemy.

When the youthful general recalls the burning of 300 warriors, he locks eyes with Clarke, giving a malicious smirk as she quickly shifts her glance to the table, a faraway look in her now somber features.

A few people have taken to grumbling in agreement with the younger general, talking amongst themselves as the arguing progressively grows louder.

_“ENOUGH!”_ Lexa shouts, catching the attention of everyone in the room once more. Even Clarke snaps from her distant remembrance.

Lexa turns her attention back to the, still smirking, _Azgeda_ general.

_“So, you expect us to punish the entire clan for the crimes of only the few? You want justice to be distorted to fit whatever narrative you decide General?”_ She asks. _“What of the warriors who acted under Kwin Nia? Are we, as a Coalition and a people, to hold the entire Azgeda population accountable for the crimes of Nia and her followers?”_

The _Azgeda_ general blanches, his newfound courage dwindling away. The young man lowers his head, thoroughly abashed, quickly stepping back to blend with the gathered _Azgeda_ delegation.

Lexa studies the room for another moment, waiting for any other interruptions. There are none, so she continues.

_“Wanheda, since there are no more interruptions…”_ Lexa glares at the gathered crowd before returning his eyes to Clarke. _“Would you like to explain your plan of attack to us all?”_

* * *

Lexa’s eyes are warm and reassuring, a friend and confidant in a room filled with people who hate her, or at least her people. Clarke nods once, stepping around the table to stand beside Lexa, turning to face the audience.

_“Mochof, Heda.”_ She thanks Lexa, finding reassurance in her calm demeanor before turning back to the watching crowd.

The room’s focus shifts from the Commander to Clarke, expressions shifting from respect to hatred and distrust. Clarke meets each glare and grimace thrown her way, matching them with her own. _  
_

_“I know many of you here would wish death and destruction on the all of Skaikru. I know we, as a people, have done little to show appreciation for the support and security we have gained from new allies.”_

Many angry murmurs startup with her latest admission, but Clarke presses on.

_“We destroyed a village upon landing, that much is true. We also fought off every attack against us at the drop ship, killing hundreds of Coalition warriors. While these deaths are tragic and should not be forgotten, they were not crimes. At the drop ship, we defended ourselves. When the village was destroyed, it was an accident, a consequence we had no way of anticipating.”_

_“If you want retribution for those lost, fine. Skaikru can pay in services, medical advancements, and other ways. If someone must pay for these crimes, tie me to the tree. As we were all reminded just a moment ago, I am the one who flipped the switch and burned 300 warriors.”_

At the proposition, a few people in the crowd voice their agreement. Generals and Ambassadors nodding along, someone even shouting out their desire for the first cut.

Clarke waits patiently, watching half the room discuss amongst themselves, spouting plans of killing and punishing the great _Wanheda_. The other half of the room wear frowns on their face, a few even going as far as to vouch for Clarke and all that she has done for their people - destroying the Mountain being their main reason for supporting the blonde.

A low growl startles Clarke, a quiet, yet terrifying, noise coming from the brunette beside her. She looks over to see an absolutely _furious_ Commander. Lexa’s eyes are narrowed in concentrated anger, her fists clinched and teeth grinding.

One brave man, a low ranking military figure of the _Delfikru_ , steps forward. The gruff looking man moving towards Clarke with a fiery determination in his eyes. His outstretched arm comes closer to her, his hand coming to grab at her shoulder.

A second later, _everything stops._

One moment, the _Delfi_ man’s hand rested on her shoulder, a firm and, slightly painful, grip. And then, it was gone. Quick as a blink of the eye, the man found himself pinned to the war table, the same arm that had touched Clarke now pinned behind him in a painful hold. Lexa stands behind him, putting her weight on his back as she leans dangerously close to his ear, whispering threats that only the two of them can hear.

The room is quiet, everyone in the room frozen in place. Scuffles and heated debated are paused, as if someone had frozen the moment in a single frame of time.

The _Delfikru_ man’s pained breathing disturbs the silence of the room, each grunt and exhale becoming more guttural as Lexa adds pressure to his bent arm.

Eventually, Lexa seems to have made her point. She whispers one more harsh threat into the man’s ear, earning a gruff nod, before releasing her hold and shoving him back into a nervous _Delfi_ assembly.

Lexa straightens her back, clenching her jaw and hardening her eyes before she speaks in a calm and commanding tone.

_“Klark kom Skaikru is NOT our enemy. The Skaikru have caused strife for us all since their arrival, but Wanheda has only sought-after peace between our two people. She has felled the Mountain, securing a brighter future for our children and grandchildren. She has taken responsibility as an ambassador to help broker peace between our two people.”_

Lexa turns to Clarke, her fierce eyes glowing in the candle lit room.

_“She has not chosen sides, she has not looked to absolve her people completely. She is stronger than all of us. Klark stands by the Coalition, by us all, as she seeks to overthrow her own people and their corrupt leaders.”_

Lexa’s eyes soften considerably as she finishes her speech, finding thankful blue eyes staring back at her. The brunette nods, allowing the adoration she feels towards Clarke to reflect in the brief action.

Clarke can’t help the smile that twitches at her lips. She quickly schools her face, before turning back to the crowd that now listens aptly.

_“Alright, so the plan…”_

* * *

 

The rest of the meeting had gone well, better than expected if Clarke was honest with herself.

There were no more distractions, the _Azgeda_ and _Delfikru_ congregation remaining more silent than usual - of course that may have been due to the persistent glares Lexa would subtly send their way.

By the end of her speech, many of the people in the room wore a surprised look on their face. The generals, and even her fellow ambassadors, apparently had no clue that a _Skaikru_ could be so meticulous and well thought out in their planning - seeing the Sky people as nothing more than children with _deadly_ toys.

Eventually a seemingly begrudging respect replaced the surprise of the assembly members.

The plan, for now, was for each group to travel back to their respective clans, announcing the impending war against the _Skaikru_. Each leader of the clans was expected to respond with hundreds of their best warriors, granting Lexa an army of well over three thousand.

When Lexa had adjourned the meeting, dismissing everyone to make plans and prepare for sending riders or making the trip back home, many people had stayed behind to talk with Clarke. Some apologized, many expressing their appreciation for her actions at the Mountain, or support for not standing with Pike and his murderous group.

The most surprising was Octavia, one of the last people to leave the room, as the young brunette had walked up to Clarke, visibly nervous, and apologized for jumping to conclusions, and the whole _“holding a knife to your throat thing.”_

Clarke had just laughed it off, giving Octavia a quick hug with the promise of talking later. The brief interaction and successful war planning causing Clarke to feel accomplished for the first time in a while - so of course, Titus had to ruin that.

After the room had cleared out, leaving only Clarke, Lexa, and Titus, the flamekeeper had leveled Clarke with one of his, now-recurring, glares, before asking to meet with Lexa in private.

When Lexa declined his request, letting Titus know she had already planned to meet privately with Clarke first - _she hadn_ _’t_ \- he had stormed out of the room, his robes swishing behind him with his hurried pace, as the doors banged loudly against the walls.

“Well,” Clarke said, “he certainly isn’t happy with me.”

Lexa chuckles, but its dry and clearly forced, her eyes looking after the retreating flamekeeper with a hint of remorse.

“No, he is not.”

Clarke sighs, knowing Lexa isn’t looking forward to plotting against the man who practically raised her. Because, on some level, Lexa loves Titus. How could she not? But Clarke also knows, Lexa loves her, and would do anything in her power to protect her.

_Even taking a bullet for Clarke_.

 

* * *

 

The hallway leading to the Sanctuary is empty.

The short-arched ceilings round the cramped walkway, creating a path just wide enough for one person to walk with comfort and ease.

Lexa leads the way, her hand reaching behind her to lace with Clarke’s outstretched one. Behind them, four guards wait at the entrance. Each warrior stands firm in their post, heads held high with weapons at the ready.

The brunette dons her Commander regalia, complete with her familiar war paint. In her dominant hand, the one not linked with Clarke’s, her sword is drawn, poised away from her, ready to strike down her enemies - or in this case, _enemy_.

As the couple nears the intricately designed door, the sounds from within the Sanctuary become clearer. Murmured threats and questions, followed quickly by grunts of pain and annoyance, reach their ears; the slight gap between the door and the floor allowing sound to carry into the hallway.

Lexa comes to a stop only feet from the door. She turns back to Clarke, looking to reassure the blonde. Clarke meets her eyes, the slight hint of fear and distress lurking in her sapphire orbs, but nods regardless; assuring Lexa she wants to be here - _she needs to be_.

Lexa can’t help but smile at her lover, admiring the familiar determination the blonde so often exudes. She nods back, releasing Clarke’s hand with a quick squeeze, before turning back to the Sanctuary entrance.

Taking just a moment to compose herself, a few seconds to reflect and remind herself of _why_ she’s going through with this and _what_ might happen if she doesn’t.

Titus is a threat. To herself, to her cause, and most importantly to _Clarke_.

She won’t let him hurt the girl she loves. Her body is merely a vessel, a host for the Commander’s spirit, but Clarke - she’s _special_. She must live.

The familiar gravelly voice of her adviser breaks Lexa from her thoughts, sounding increasingly angry with the responses Murphy has given him. A grunt of pain, or perhaps irritation, follows soon after, distinctly different and sounding muffled by cloth or some other gag.

With one more quick breath, Lexa places her left hand against the Sanctuary door, tightening her grip on the sword with her other.

Pushing the door open proves easy. The heavy wood swings open before smashing into the wall, making for a loud and obnoxious entrance. The two inhabitants of the room freeze, both caught mid-interrogation, before turning their attention to a stoic Commander.

Lexa walks into the room, methodically moving from corner to corner, observing the shrine and various hieroglyphs with feigned interest, as she covers the small space. Finally, the brunette arrives at the other two occupants in the room. Lexa returns her glare to Titus, the robed man staring back from beneath the hood of his robes, a slight apprehension showing in his grey eyes.

“Titus.” Lexa speaks, breaking the all-encompassing silence of the dimly lit room.

“ _Heda_ , what brings you the Sanctuary at such an hour, surely your time is better spent preparing for the Ascension Day celebrations later tonight?” Titus stammers out, his eyes quickly glancing back to the open door of the sacred room before returning his attention to Lexa.

“I was not aware you were in the business of telling me where I should spend my time _Fleimkepa_.” Lexa’s voice drips with sarcasm, her brow raised in a silent question of his intentions.

Titus blanches slightly, stuttering out an apology as he shakes his head.

“I apologize _Heda_ , it was not my-”

Lexa interrupts him, speaking over the faltering man.

“You apologize for _what_ exactly? What is it you are sorry for Titus?” Lexa asks, taking a step towards the man.

Titus hesitates, his brows knitting together. “ _Heda_ I-” He pauses again, unsure in his answer and confused by his Commander’s anger.

“Speak true Titus, why are you sorry? What are you apologizing for?” Lexa advances on the man, taking two more steps as he backs up, keeping the same distance between the two.

“I- I apologize for questioning your decisions- for questioning your appearance here, in the Sanctuary.” Titus continues to stammer, distancing himself further.

“Yes, but I am not concerned with your suggested planning of my daily schedule Titus, I want to know if you are truly sorry? Are you remorseful for the offenses you have committed, with your power and station?” Lexa advances, taking another step towards the nervous man as Titus backtracks another step as well.

“ _Heda_ , I am not sure what you speak of.” Titus wears a quizzical expression, but beneath the knitted brow and quirked brow, there is an underlying emotion. _Fear_.

Lexa takes this as her opening, sheathing her sword before pulling the knife from her hip. The brunette begins to advance on the religious figure, taking each step with his retreating step to counter.

“Did you not torture this man - a simple thief beaten within an inch of his life?”

_A step._

“Yes, but _Heda_ he-”

“Did you not torture this man for information on Clarke, in the hopes of finding something exploit against her - the girl I love?”

_Another step._

“ _Heda_ , that girl will-”

“Do you not actively plot against Clarke? Do you not have plans to harm her - to _kill_ her?

_Two more steps._

Titus’s eyes widen, the shock clearly expressed on his face.

“How did you- How could-”

“Did you not plan to use a _Skaikru_ weapon - a _gun?_ Something forbidden by the very teachings you practice and preach to myself and the _natblidas?_ ”

_Another step,_ and then _\- thud_. Titus is trapped, his back to a corner of the room, with nowhere to go.

His eyes are wide with fear, an underlying curiosity and astonishment apparent in his furrowed brow and mouth hanging agape.

Lexa’s glare bores into the man with a fury she’s seldom channeled in this life. Her green eyes shine bright with the fire burning within, embers smoldering to create a green glow in the dimly lit Sanctuary.

Titus opens his mouth, only to close it once again. A repeated pattern, Titus does so a few more times before Lexa addresses him again, sick of waiting.

“Speak true _Fleimkepa_ , defend yourself. Tell me which of these claims are true. What do you apologize for?” She quips.

Titus’ jaw drops open once more, his eyes flicking back and forth between her own, trying to read her expression and solve an unasked question.

“How did you- You couldn’t-” Titus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before speaking again.

“How?” He asks, simple and including all his many questions.

There’s a moment of deafening silence, an eerie stillness washing over the room. No one speaks, the only audible noise coming from the flickering coals and embers of the lone brazier in the room.

Titus doesn’t move, his palms pressed to the cool stone wall behind him, watching Lexa for a long moment, waiting for her next move.

Lexa’s fury radiates from her commanding presence. Between her piercing green eyes, growing darker in the low lighting, and the clench of her jaw, Lexa cast’s an imposing figure.

After a few moments of the inaudible standoff, dangerous glares and quizzical glances, Titus breaks the stalemate. Reaching into his robes, Titus brings out the gun, holding it against his side.

“How?” He asks again, gritting his teeth as he asks. His voice is calmer - and _deadlier._

Lexa casts a glance to the gun, noticing the shaking of his hand as he handles the foreign weapon.

A second later, Titus’s shaking hand raises, aiming the gun at Lexa’s abdomen.

_She hadn_ _’t expected this._

Lexa’s eyes widen in confusion, her mouth dropping open before she raises her eyes to meet her apparent attacker.

“Titus, what are you doing?”

“I am sorry _Heda_ , truly I am. I can no longer deny you are becoming misguided by that _Skaikru_ girl. You claim to _love_ this girl, another one of my teachings you have chosen to ignore again and again.” Titus says, his voice laced with a dangerous timbre.

Before Lexa can respond, the verbal lashing itching to spring forth from her lips, a voice calling out across the room causes the brunette to look over her shoulder. Clarke stands in the doorway, hands in the air, showing she has no weapons.

“Wait! You don’t want to do that Titus, I know you don’t. Shoot me instead.” Clarke exclaims, her eyes wide and pleading.

Lexa grinds her teeth, her annoyance, and fear, visible by her knitted brow and clenched fist.

“Clarke.” Lexa grits out. “I thought we agreed upon you remaining in the hallway.”

Clarke ignores her, stepping further into the room. She stops at Murphy’s chair, looking down at the man for a moment, meeting his eyes, before returning her attention to Titus.

“Listen to me Titus. You don’t want to do this. Kill me, let Lexa go.”

Lexa shakes her head. _This wasn_ _’t the plan._

Her thoughts are interrupted when she senses Titus moving past her, advancing quickly on the blonde.

“You!” Titus’s voice drips with venom, his dull eyes darkened in rage.

Titus rushes past a distracted Lexa, growing nearer to the blonde girl now standing in the middle of the Sanctuary. He pulls the gun, raising it in his right hand as he focuses on his new target. His attempt at moving closer to the blonde comes to a crashing halt, the blade at his throat causing him to stop in his tracks.

Lexa holds the knife to his throat, her other arm wrapped tightly around his chest, holding the man back.

She leans close to Titus, breathing right in his ear as she threatens the man.

“Don’t you dare.” Lexa hisses, adding pressure to the knife at his throat.

Time freezes for a second, each figure of this integral moment unmoving.

Titus remains focused on his target, his shaking hand holding the foreign weapon on Clarke. Lexa’s knife presses deeper into him. Her eyes are wide with fury and fear, glancing back and forth between her captive and the girl she loves. Clarke stands, frozen, staring down the barrel of the gun. Her blue eyes are blown wide, every muscle in her body locked in place. Even Murphy remains in his chair, his gagged face twisting back and forth as he watches the events unfold.

Titus is the first to speak, once more.

“I am sorry _Heda,_ but this girl is a danger to you, and to this Coalition.” His face hardens, the shaking of his hand slowly ebbing away to leave a steady aim on the blonde.

Lexa can sense it, the moment she knows Titus has made his decision. The newfound tautness of his shoulders and the steady exhale. She increases on the man’s neck once more, causing the already small cut to deepen and flow.

“Titus, you would do well-”

_A shot rings out._

* * *

 

She wasn’t supposed to go inside the Temple with Lexa, that wasn’t the plan.

Clarke had remained in the hallway, peering through the door, and listening as Lexa questioned Titus.

Everything had been going to plan. Murphy was saved. Lexa had Titus cornered. He was close to breaking and admitting his plotting. The only problem, that damn gun.

The moment Titus pulled the handgun, the piece shaking slightly with the nerves of an amateur and unsure handler, Clarke wasn’t really thinking much beyond _saving Lexa_ when she walked into the room. She couldn’t - _wouldn_ _’t_ \- sit by and watch Lexa be shot, not again.

Now, staring down the barrel of a gun, Clarke is frozen. Her eyes, wide with terror, remain locked to Titus. Her mind screams at her ‘ _run_ _’, ‘protect yourself’_ , but the blonde’s feet betray her, refusing to move.

Clarke watches as Lexa readjusts herself, adding more pressure to the already leaking cut on Titus’s neck. He is mostly unaffected, the only indication of pain coming from the slight hiss that escapes his lips.

His hold on the gun remains ironclad. Titus holds the gun with amateurish incompetence, his improper grip shaking as the weapon remains aimed at Clarke.

Lexa leans forward to whisper something into the man’s ears, his face betraying nothing of what the brunette might have said.

When Titus responds, Clarke can physically feel her stomach bottoming out. The blonde’s gut wrenching in anguish.

“I am sorry _Heda,_ but this girl is a danger to you, and to this Coalition.” There’s a newfound steel in the Flamekeeper’s tone, his nerves no longer evident in the knit of his brow or the shaking of his arm.

There’s a moment of silence, both Clarke and Lexa’s breath hitching at the implication coming from Titus.

Titus calms his breathing, resting the gun on Clarke as his now-determined grey eyes stare back at her.

Clarke can tell when he had made his choice, his eyes taking on a now familiar malicious glint. Her eyes widen in shock and fear. The blonde’s feet remain frozen to the spot, unable to move - even as she screams at herself internally.  _'_

_MOVE!’ ‘RUN, YOU IDIOT!’_

Lexa must sense it a moment later, her brow knitting together slightly before she leans forward to address Titus again.

“Titus, you would do well-”

A wall slams into her side, throwing her from her petrified state. A moment later, an ear-piercing sound grates the blonde’s ears. Clarke’s right-side crashes into the hard, stone floors, a sharp pain rising from the shoulder that broke her fall. Another second later, the sound of a body hitting the floor disturbs the quiet of the room.

The seconds that follow are suspended in time and silence. Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. An unwritten agreement having formed between the occupants of the room.

A familiar and _in pain_ voice breaks the tranquility of the stolen moment.

“Not the welcome party I was expecting Princess, mind helping me with my arm?” Murphy jokes, wincing in pain when he attempts to laugh at this own failed humor, standing where she once did, clutching at this newly wounded arm.

Clarke’s face twists into a slight grin, quickly falling away when she looks over to see Lexa staring down at the still body on the floor. Her hand is dripping with blood, the knife it once held laying in a growing pool of blood on the floor.

Lexa looks ready to explode. The clenched fists and jaw a telltale sign of the brunette attempting to control her emotions. A lone tear falls from her eyes, dripping from long a long eyelash to the man below.

 

_Fuck._

* * *

 

The grand doors burst open, swinging around before slamming into the walls, creating a loud _bang_ that has Clarke jumping in her skin.

The blonde follows behind Lexa, staying only a step behind the bothered Commander.

Lexa crosses her room, walking to the closed balcony doors before walking back to the blonde. Her cold green eyes meet Clarke’s blue ones, before she turns once more and continues her pacing of the bedroom.

For a few minutes, they remain in this position. An increasingly exasperated Clarke standing near the bed, watching an equally furious Lexa walk back-and-forth across the room.

Clarke quickly becomes fed up with the brunette’s excessive pacing, stepping into Lexa’s path before grabbing her by both shoulders.

The brunette’s eyes darken, glowering at Clarke before she steps back out of the blonde’s grasp.

“I recall the plan being for _you_ to wait in the hallway!” Lexa shouts, actually _shouts_ , at her.

Clarke blinks, tilting her head to side in puzzlement, a quizzical look crossing her face.

Lexa _humphs_ , before continuing. “You put yourself in unnecessary danger with Titus! I had the situation under control before you entered the room. You could have been shot!” She exclaims through gritted teeth.

Clarke’s face quickly transitions from one of confusion to irritation and anger.

“Excuse me?” She whispers, harshly.

Lexa clenches her jaw, her own anger showing at having to repeat herself.

“I said, you could have-”

An underlying anger flares in Clarke. A deadly glare crosses her face, focusing on the brunette in front of her. A sharp inhale through her nose causing a slight pause before the blonde marches forward.

“I HEARD WHAT YOU SAID!” Her tone is vehement, so much anger and disdain bleeding from her reprimand.

Lexa’s anger is quickly replaced by one of shock. Her brows raising as she takes in the irate blonde. When Clarke begins to advance on her, taking a step with each few words, a look of _almost fear_ crosses the brunette’s face - which would be funny on any other day, but not today.

“Did you honestly expect me to sit by and watch Titus shoot you? You wanted me to watch you die? Again?!” Her voice is a harsh whisper again, both managing to be loud enough to adequately reprimand the brunette, and quiet enough to keep the guards posted outside from bursting into the room.

“I have told you before Clarke, I am expendable, the Commander will live on, you are not. Putting yourself in harm’s way was reckless.”

Clarke scoffs before stepping forward again, jabbing her finger into Lexa’s chest.

“I know we’ve had this discussion before. I seem to recall us agreeing to work together, to _fight_ together!”

Lexa pauses, her mouth remaining agape mid-rebuttal. She opens and closes her mouth a few times before a slightly guilty look occupies her face.

“Clarke you cannot simply throw yourself into dangerous situations to save me. Your life is worth more than my own.”

“Says who?” The blonde questions.

The brunette’s answer is automatic.

“I am merely a vessel; the spirit will move on to the next Commander with my death.” Lexa’s tone is almost robotic, an easily distinguishable reflex statement taught to her repeatedly from a young age.

“Oh really?” The blonde snarks. “Want to know what happened after you died - _last time?_ _”_

Lexa doesn’t react, her arms now crossed in front of her as she matches Clarke’s glare with one of her own.

Clarke continues.

“Immediately after you died, the _natblidas_ were attacked, and _killed,_ by Ontari. There was no Conclave. A huge power vacuum destroyed any chance of all the clans gathering under one leader again. Wars and skirmishes broke out between all of the clans, each one vying for power.” Clarke stops, her anger burning away during her exclaim. She takes in a short breath before exhaling an even shorter one, before continuing again.

“Polis crumbled. Arkadia burned. Your Coalition dissolves into nothing in the matter of days. Within two months, a second _Praimfaya_ comes, the entire world burns and almost everyone dies.” Clarke’s voice is no more than a whisper at this point, her eyes clouding with tears as she relives the chaos, the death, the destruction, the loneliness.

Lexa’s eyes are wide and fearful, her breath stolen from her somewhere between hearing her _natblidas_ were all murdered and the world burns.

The two girls are silent for a moment, Clarke’s harsh and tear stained breathing the only disturbance.

“Clarke I- How did- But we-” The Commander stutters, broken sentences ending with an increasingly furrowed brow and speechless girl.

Lexa finally settles for two words, coming as an exhale, almost too quiet for the blonde to catch.

“Another _Praimfaya_?”

Clarke exhales slowly, sighing out a long breath as she collects her thoughts. This isn’t exactly how she planned to tell Lexa about the radiation wave, but there’s nothing she can do now.

“Let’s sit down, I need to explain a few things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I'm not exactly satisfied with it, and may make a few smaller revisions when I wake up tomorrow, but it hit everything I wanted to touch in this chapter. I hope you feel like I handled the Titus situation well? I always planned for Clexa confronting Titus w the intention of arresting/detaining him, only for him to force their hand and Lexa having to kill him to save Clarke. Titus's death with be HUGE in some ways, mostly for Lexa, but also a few other characters (foreshadowing mwaahahahaha).
> 
> Also, I'm seriously sorry for taking two whole weeks to update this baby. I recently started a new job, plus the 2nd half of my spring semester has been pretty challenging so far. I'm trying to devote enough time to my hobbies and interest (writing this is one of them) to balance all the hours i work and study, but lately it's been much more one-sided. Not sure if the next update will take as long, I plan for it not to, but we'll see. 
> 
> If you find this enjoyable, feel free to let me know. I write for myself and because I enjoy the process of putting my ideas into text and sharing it with others, but I always love encouragement and reviews from others. Have a great day/night everyone!


	7. Should I Stay and Fight? (Through The Night)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slight time jump.
> 
> Clexa on horses. Octavia is a petulant child and Indra rips her a new one. Clexa fluff? 
> 
> Phase 1 of the attack on Arkadia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, where do I start? First off, I'm so terribly sorry for the 5/6 week delay between last chapter and this one (I'll address this further in the notes below if you care to read). Secondly, this chapter might seem a bit off to you all? It felt a little weird to me but I'm happy with the overall turnout of it. Just give me time to get back into the swing of things.
> 
> So, what happens today you might ask? Well, we get some mild pre-war Clexa fluff, Octavia being childish, and the most intense staring competition of all time.
> 
> I do hope you all enjoy this update, and if you do (or if you absolutely despised it), be sure to let me know in the comments below. Any comments/constructive criticisms are always welcome, plus if you have suggestions or guesses about where the fic will go from here, I'd love to hear those as well. 
> 
> OR if you want to be cool, follow me on Tumblr @ CharacterStructure. I'd love to meet more of you wonderful ppl, and I'm always down to talk about fanfiction, music, or anything really. HMU!

Clarke is in love, that much is obvious. As much as she might try to hide it, the blonde’s affection for the Commander is hard to miss with her not-so-subtle flirting.

Octavia must watch as the two women in front of her share soft words and even softer smiles.

Clarke and Lexa ride side by side, their horses matching the other’s easy march. Hundreds of _Trikru_ warriors fall in line behind them, marching their way towards the blockade site around Arkadia. Their backs are straightened, and eyes are sharp, striking an imposing figure as they march at the front of an army.

Every so often, Clarke will lean to her left slightly, shifting in her saddle to bridge the gap between herself and the Commander, speaking with Lexa in a hushed tone. Lexa, in return, will bump their boots together every few feet or so, offering Clarke a small grin or nod with each touch.

 

It’s disgusting.

 

Octavia and Indra ride behind them, only separated by a few dozen feet. Indra’s eyes remain alert and focused, a reminder of her many years of battle experience and loyalty to a commander.

Octavia spends a majority of the ride studying Clarke and Lexa’s relationship and trying to get Indra to speak to her. Indra doesn’t acknowledge Octavia, blatantly ignoring her former second’s attempt at starting a conversation.

After numerous failed attempts, Octavia turns her attention back to the couple in front of her, witnessing, yet again, Clarke leaning in to whisper into Lexa’s ear, causing the Commander’s cheeks to dust red.

The two leaders ride closer now, feet and legs brushing with each step. Lexa chooses that moment to bridge the much shorter distance to point out something in the path ahead of them, whispering her explanation in Clarke’s ear.

Octavia’s resting scowl deepens, her eyes boring into the scene with disdain.

“You do not have to agree with everything your _Heda_ does, but you do have to respect her. Eyes forward _Oktevia_.” Indra says, her eyes never leaving the tree line.

Octavia turns to Indra, watching the general with an incredulous look on her face.

“This doesn’t bother you?” She spits out. “That-” Octavia points at the two girls in front of her, “-doesn’t bother you?”

Indra cuts her eyes over to Octavia, anger, and annoyance apparent in her expression.

“It is not my place, nor yours, to discuss or cast judgment on the things Heda does behind closed doors.” She hisses, causing Octavia to recoil slightly with the harsh infliction.

“But- look at them. They-” Octavia tries.

“Are both your leaders. _Klark_ of your former, _Leksa_ of your future,” Indra pauses, “And perhaps _Klark_ of your future as well.”

Indra steers her horse closer to Octavia, leaning in her saddle to close the distance between them. The warrior bares her teeth and narrows her eyes, a look to strike fear into the hearts of her enemies.

“You will respect them as the position dictates,” she snaps, her voice low and threatening.

Octavia huffs slightly, shifting back in her saddle to turn her attention towards the trees around them.

 

* * *

 

Up ahead, Lexa wears a tiny smirk on her lips, having heard the entire conversation from behind her. The Commander turns her head back, locking eyes with her longtime friend and confidant. Indra meets Lexa’s glance with a brief nod before returning her attention to the trees, with the smallest of smiles altering her usual indifference.

“You know it’s not very Commander-like to eavesdrop on your friends,” Clarke teases.

Lexa turns her attention to the rider beside her. Clarke watches her with a certain mirth shining in her crystal eyes.

“The Commander does not have friends, Clarke.” She reminds the blonde.

Clarke’s only response is a slight chuckle.

“Then what am I? We’ve certainly gotten friendly over the past few nights.” Clarke wears a shit-eating grin, splitting her face even more as she notices the heat creeping into Lexa’s neck and face.

Try as she might, Lexa can’t find a way to refute Clarke’s statement, nor does she want to if she’s honest.

The two had spent the past few nights enjoying each other’s presence in the dark of night. Clarke would sneak into her room at each night, long after the tower fell into slumber. And Lexa would wake with a mane of blonde hair in her face each morning.

She’d never slept better in her life.

Lexa clears her throat, forcing her stoic facade back into place. The red glow of her cheeks never fading.

“You are much more than a friend to me _Klark kom Skaikru_.” Lexa cuts her eyes over to her lover, a soft adoration shining through her mask. Soon after, a noticeable crimson begins to spread over Clarke’s neck and face as well, the blonde looking down to hide her heating cheeks.

Lexa returns her attention to the road ahead, a victorious smile gracing her lips.

The two ride in silence for a while after that, returning to their game of sharing soft looks and hidden smiles. Lexa catches Clarke watching her every now and then, only to hastily glance away when caught in her ogling. Clarke catches Lexa just as many times.

When they are an hour or so from the blockade site, Lexa starts to notice the telltale signs of Clarke’s nervousness. The blonde rubs the hem of her riding leathers - Lexa’s riding leathers she _borrowed_ -between her forefinger and thumb. Clarke’s eyes are also a dead giveaway, her brow furrowed in concentration as she watches the terrain change in front of her, even as her mind wanders miles away.

After observing silently for a few minutes, Lexa reaches across to still Clarke’s unsteady hands, grabbing her shaking ones with a warm and steady grip.

“Rest easy Clarke, we have planned for this. You have planned for this. We are as prepared as we can be.” Lexa squeezes Clarke’s hand, a firm reassurance.

Clarke shakes her head, looking down in her lap. “No, it’s not that I-” She stops, shaking her head again.

Lexa gives her time, allowing the distraught girl to gather herself for whatever she has to say. After a long wait, long enough Lexa had begun to think Clarke would never tell her, Clarke speaks again.

“What if they hate me?” Clarke asks, her voice only slightly louder than a whisper, but Lexa hears her.

“I thought you said everyone had forgiven you in your world?” Lexa asks. “Did you not say the _Skaikru_ looked to you for guidance again when facing _Praimfaya_?”

Clarke shakes her head.

“That was then, when I was fighting for them. This time, they’ll see me as more of a traitor than they already do. I’ll be an outcast.” Clarke says, sighing and looking back down at her nervous hands.

“You are saving them.” Lexa argues, watching the uncertain blonde. “Your plan will save hundreds of your people. Leaving them to their own devices will only get them all killed at this point. You are _saving_ them, Clarke.”

Clarke sighs, shaking her head once more. “I hope you’re right.”

“I am,” Lexa reassures her, reaching across to squeeze the blonde’s hand again. “You are saving them.”

Clarke seems to accept that answer, either beginning to believe Lexa’s words or not caring to continue the argument. They ride in silence for another few moments before Clarke looks back over at Lexa, noticing the worried glances the brunette keeps sending her way.

“What?” Clarke asks.

“Nothing.” Lexa shakes her head, returning her worried eyes to the path.

“Lexa. Tell me.” Clarke presses

“No.”

“Lexa-”

“Leave it Clarke.” Lexa’s voice is harder now, her jaw clenched, and brow furrowed.

Clarke sighs but remains silent for a moment, watching the clearly upset Commander ride beside her.

“ _Beja, Leksa._ ”

Lexa sighs this time, knowing she’s lost this _battle_. The brunette turns to the girl beside her, studying Clarke for a few moments before airing the worries that plague her mind.

“Do you regret choosing this side of the line? Knowing you might be cast out or turned away by your people. Knowing your people will resent you for siding with me, and even more when they learn of our relat-”

A hand on her arm stops Lexa’s spiraling thoughts.

“Lex- hold on just a second,” Clarke says, her voice calm and steady. “I could never regret choosing you. I’ve chosen you in the past. I’m choosing you now. And I’ll choose you in the future.”

Lexa’s worries completely melt away when Clarke gives her a soft smile, squeezing her bicep once more before releasing Lexa’s arm and returning her attention to the road ahead.

They ride in a comfortable silence for the rest of the hour, only speaking again when they are closing in on the blockade border.

Clarke must notice the familiar surroundings of the land around Arkadia, as her nervous tells returns. Lexa casts careful glances at the blonde beside her but makes no move to disturb her train of thought.

“Do you think my- _our_ plan will work?” Clarke asks.

Lexa looks pensive for a moment, her eyes resting on the path in front of them, before she turns back to Clarke.

“We cannot know for sure. I can only guarantee that I will fight by your side, as I hope you will fight by mine,” Lexa says. The brunette’s eyes softening unconsciously, love and adoration shining in her emerald gaze.

The blonde’s chest and face dust a crimson blush, her only response comes as a mumbled “ _I will,_ ” before Clarke breaks the intimate connection, immediately directing her gaze to her lap.

A small grin breaks the Commander’s otherwise stoic facade, her amusement of the situation apparent to Clarke when she chances a glance at her lover, only to _humph_ , and focus on the trail before her when she sees the smirk Lexa wears.

Lexa spends another few moments just watching the flustered leader, appreciating the beauty and confidence Clarke exudes effortlessly.

Her blonde hair cascades down her back, pulled back in a few simple braids to keep it from her eyes while riding.

Her deep blue eyes, catching slightly on the fading rays of the evening sunlight, remaining alert as she scans the forest around them.

Her strong and reserved, yet warm and welcoming, figure, shifting with each step and sway of the beast beneath her.

Clarke is beautiful, too beautiful for the world they live in, and Clarke is hers.

 

Lexa’s smile grows just slightly more.

 

* * *

 

Clarke steps from her tent into the cool of the night, the slight breeze causing a shiver to run down her back.

The camp is asleep, every warrior either on watch or getting some much-needed rest after a demanding march to the blockade marker. The rough snores and gentle crackles and pops from campfires the only disturbance of a still night.

Clarke glances around her, taking in the serenity that seems to have washed over the gathered masses. A sense of _calm before the storm_ having taken root in the blockade camp.

Finally, Clarke’s eyes land on her target, Lexa’s tent.

The large tent has gone dark at this hour, not a candle or torch lit inside to signal any conscious life. On either side of the entrance stand two of Lexa’s most trusted guards, Ryder and Jylon.

Clarke covers the short distance from her tent to Lexa’s. She wears a cool, confident demeanor on her face, but on the inside, the blonde worries she might embarrass herself with the stunt she’s about to pull. Clarke holds her head high as she comes to a stop in front of the crossed spears, casting a glance to Jylon for a second before focusing her gaze on Ryder.

“Ryder,” Clarke nods in greeting.

“ _Wanheda,_ ” Ryder greets in return, his voice as gruff and serious as ever.

Clarke holds Ryder’s eyes with her own for a few moments, neither backing down from the stare down. Ryder doesn’t appear angered or annoyed with her presence, just questioning and curious of why she stands outside with him at such an hour of the night.

Clarke takes this as a sort of challenge, refusing to be the first one to look away from the intense staring contest that seems to have started.

Jylon watches from the side, his focus switching back and forth from the fierce leader to the surly guard.

The now turned staring competition continues like this for a few minutes, Clarke’s eyes furrowed in concentration and determination and Ryder’s indifferent glance focusing back on her with a curious skepticism.

After a few moments of the silent standoff, Clarke has lost her patience. She steps forward, getting within inches of the man before her. Clarke pauses for a second, holding Ryder’s curious stare for another moment, before speaking.

“Are you going to stop me?” Clarke grits out, allowing a little steel to seep into her commanding tone.

Ryder’s once-curious face now resembles that of utter bafflement. He raises a brow, turning his head ever-so-slightly as a small animal or child would when confused.

“Stop you from what, _Wanheda?_ ” He asks, his confused tone going unnoticed by the irate blonde before him.

A small growl escapes Clarke’s lips, feeling adequately belittled at the idea of having to ask for entrance to Lexa’s tent, as if Lexa would not allow it. Inspired by her increasing anger, a little more volume slips into the blonde’s tone.

“Entering _Heda_ _’s_ tent, Ryder,” she bites out. “Or will you make me wait while you ask permission?”

Ryder’s brow furrows even more, if it were possible. The bewildered man looks over to his younger companion, shooting him a questioning glance before returning his attention to Clarke.

“My apologies, _Wanheda_. I had assumed you knew,” Ryder says, “ _Heda_ has commanded all of her guards, and your own personal guards, that we are to always grant you entrance to her quarters.”

“Oh,” Clarke stutters, the anger and annoyance in her demeanor quickly being replaced by embarrassment. She can feel the heat in her neck and cheeks, thankful for the lack of light so she might hide her shame.

Clarke shakes her head, focusing back on the two guards watching her.

“Okay, well I’ll just be going in- wait,” Clarke stops. “You said my _personal guards_? I have guards?” She asks, her brow furrowed once more.

There’s a moment where Ryder seems to be calculating which answer he should give her, looking at the ground a few times before directing his attention back to Clarke. Before Ryder can answer, his mouth opening to speak, a throat clearing from the entrance of the tent causes all three of them to jump slightly.

Lexa stands at the entrance of the tent, staring down the conversation with a raised brow and her familiar stoic mask, a complete contradiction to the state of her sleep-tousled hair and wrinkled nightdress.

 

* * *

 

Lexa had just fallen into an uneasy sleep when voices from the front of her tent alerted her to someone’s presence. She could detect the familiar gruff voice of Ryder, but whoever he was talking with was a mystery. Figuring it was a messenger here to deliver news on the _Skaikru_ forces, or perhaps an update from one of the other various camps, Lexa stood from her furs.

As she stood there listening to the hushed conversation between Ryder and the newcomer, the 2nd voice began to become more audible, and more aggressive.

It wasn’t until after a slight pause that she heard the familiar lilt of her lover’s voice, and she was angry. Lexa couldn’t quite make out everything Clarke said, but she could hear the darkening of her tone as she grew more upset.

Lexa quickly stepped from her sleeping quarters, heading across the tent towards the entrance. As she neared the entrance, she noticed the conversation had stopped.

Lexa pulls the tent flap to the side, stepping into the moonlit night. Her eyes quickly adjust to the slight light offered from the moon and surround campfires. When she finally takes notice of the three figures before her, she’s even more confused.

To her left, Ryder and Clarke have a silent stare down. Clarke’s face twisted in annoyance and anger, like that of when she first walked into her tent all those months ago to barter for peace and for _Finn._

Even now the thought of Finn leaves a foul taste in her mouth, being reminded of the atrocities he committed against her people, and of his place in Clarke’s heart those few months ago.

Clarke had told her she’d moved on from Finn before he was killed, and while that may be true, Lexa knows his death must haunt her more than most she’s witnessed on the ground. And she can’t help but wonder if her presence is a constant reminder of Finn, considering she was the one to sentence him to death.

It’s a troubling thought, especially considering a Commander’s time is better spent dealing with political matters and war strategy, not the emotional troubles of a single girl.

But then again, Clarke is no ordinary girl.

It’s almost scary - and the Commander fears nothing - how quickly Clarke has taken root in her mind and heart. Clarke is exactly what the past Commanders, Titus, and everyone else who impacted her rise to _Heda_ warned against.

Clarke is the human representation of everything a Commander is expected to refrain from. To think with her heart and not just her mind. To find joy and take care of herself, as well as her people.

In her mind, she knows Clarke is a risk, a weakness.

Because of Clarke, she constantly worries for not only her people and their safety, but also Clarke and her safety.

Because of Clarke, she finds herself openly expressing emotions she was taught to never reveal or divulge in as a trainee.

Because of Clarke, her world is lighter, _brighter_ , and she finds herself really living for the first time since Costia.

She knows Clarke is a weakness, but it’s a weakness she will wear proudly, because Clarke is also her strength, and she will do everything in her power to keep Clarke by her side until the very end.

Something she plans to pursue… _soon_.

Lexa’s spiraling thoughts are interrupted by Clarke’s puzzled voice speaking to Ryder once more.

“…I have guards?”

_Skrish._

Quickly Lexa wipes away any emotion on her face and clears her throat, alerting Clarke and her guards to her presence. She hadn’t meant to startle them, but she can’t say the sight of Ryder jumping out of fear isn’t funny.

Clarke also jumps, her eyes jumping quickly to Lexa before narrowing slightly at her.

“ _Heda_ ,” Clarke says, “Ryder was just telling me about the personal guards I have been assigned. Would you be willing to continue his explanation for him?” Clarke’s voice exudes sarcasm, her brow raised as if challenging the brunette to deny her offer.

Lexa sighs to herself, cursing Ryder for his loose tongue and herself for thinking Clarke might not figure out she had four highly trained guards assigned to her at all times.

Lexa takes a step to her left, moving her arm to the side to hold the tent flap open for Clarke. She waits for Clarke to sweep past her into the tent before turning to a rightly embarrassed Ryder.

“ _Moba, Heda,_ ” Ryder stammers, “ _had I known you meant to keep her guards a secret, I would not have revealed-_ _”_

Lexa silences him with a wave of her hand. She stares Ryder down for a second, her green eyes piercing into his dark ones even in the middle of the night. She allows him to panic for a second before a small grin breaks out across her face.

Lexa places a hand on the broad-shouldered man for just a second, reassuring and assuaging Ryder’s nervousness.

“ _There is nothing to worry about old friend,_ ” Lexa says, “ _I am more worried about myself now. I have to face the wrath of Wanheda now, pray to the Gods I live to see the morning._ _”_ Lexa chuckles to herself, knowing the annoyed blonde that awaits her in the tent will surely have her trembling as Ryder just was.

Ryder relaxes when he realizes his minor slip-up will not unleash the wrath of _Heda_ upon him, allowing an even smaller smile to grace his normally sober expression.

 _“I wish you the best of luck Heda,”_ Ryder says _,_ _“I would not wish the wrath of a tired Wanheda on even the Azgeda.”_

Ryder returns his attention to his post, facing away from Lexa to turn his diligent eyes to the surrounding area. Lexa can’t help but smile at her old friend’s comment, because she knows Ryder is right, Clarke can be quite a handful when she exhausts herself.

And secondly, she knows Ryder is aware of the relationship between the two of them, as are many of her trusted guards at this point, and this was his way of showing his support for them both. Unnecessary considering his station, but the sentimental value of having the support of someone who has known her since she was just a novitiate causes a warmth to spread in her chest.

_Clarke really is making her soft._

 

* * *

 

Clarke sits in Lexa’s throne, patiently waiting for her lover to return into the tent. As she sits there, Clarke ponders how a late-night trip to sleep in Lexa’s arms turned into the argument she knows they’re about to have.

She had lit a few candles around the room while waiting for her return, casting the dark tent into a soothing warm glow of candles and moonlight.

A few moments later, Lexa walks in. Her eyes are on the floor as she walks into the tent, only to look up when she notices Clarke. She raises an accusatory eyebrow at the girl in her throne.

“You know I could have you killed for sitting in my throne,” Lexa says. Her face is hard, every bit the mask of the Commander in place as she stares Clarke down.

Clarke chuckles lightly. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with it the other day when I was in your lap on this very same throne,” she says accusingly, returning a similar look back at the brunette, with a hint of a smile on her lips.

Lexa breaks the stoic facade finally, unable to appear angry with the pink dusting along her cheeks and the tips of her ears. The brunette allows a slight chuckle to escape her lips.

“What is it you needed, Clarke?” Lexa asks

“Oh, don’t think we’re done talking about the whole “personal guards” thing,” Clarke says. The blonde stands from the throne, crossing the room to Lexa, leaning against the war table as she stares the brunette down. “When were you going to tell me about the guards you assigned me? And why haven’t I noticed them?”

Lexa sighs, looking down at her feet as if she needs the time to gather her courage before facing off with an irate Clarke. After taking a few slow breaths, Lexa looks back up to lock eyes with the blonde, an unfamiliar sense of desperation visible in her glimmering emerald eyes.

 _“Bosh moba, Klark,”_ Lexa apologizes, “I just want you to be safe at all times, and having guards assigned to you, whenever I cannot be with you, will make me feel better about leaving your side.” Her eyes glisten slightly as she looks at Clarke with a desperate sense of love.

“Wait, Lex,” Clarke tries, “I’m not upset, I just-.”

“I need to know you are safe. I know you find it unnecessary, but I-” Lexa stops, her shoulders beginning to shake as the first tear breaks from her eye. “Clarke, I-” Her voice breaks, but she presses on.

“I never assigned a guard to Costia, whether it was because of my childish belief that no one would target her to get to me, or perhaps I thought I would always be able to keep her safe,” Lexa pauses, taking a moment to wipe the errant tear from her cheek. “I should have taken more steps to keep her safe. I shouldn’t have given _Nia_ the chance to take her. And now my enemies will try to harm you to get to me.

Lexa looks down at her feet, seemingly unable to express such emotions while looking Clarke in the eye, and it breaks Clarke’s heart.

 _“Beja,”_ She whispers, _“I can’t lose you too-” She_ stops again. _“I’m not strong enough.”_

Clarke rushes forward, wrapping the trembling girl in her arms. Lexa clings to her, repeatedly whispering _“please”_ and _“beja”_ into Clarke’s neck.

“Hey,” Clarke whispers, “I’m not upset, and you won’t lose me.” Lexa shakes her head in Clarke’s neck, whispering and crying softly, so Clarke continues.

“I don’t mind the guards Lexa, seriously. I just wish you would have told me,” Clarke assures her, hushing and comforting the distraught girl in her arms as best she can.

She holds the brunette for a long while before Lexa manages to calm herself. After a few seconds of muffled sniffles and slight hiccups from the brunette, Lexa steps back, breaking herself from Clarke’s comforting hold.

Her red-rimmed eyes meet Clarke’s and her cheeks heat up once more, a nervous and embarrassed expression crossing her face.

“Clarke, I-” Lexa tries, but Clarke cuts her off.

“Don’t,” Clarke chides, “Don’t you even think about apologizing for crying in front of me, or for being honest and showing me real emotion. You’re not the Commander with me, you’re just Lexa. And I’m just Clarke.

Lexa hesitates, seemingly unsure if she can be _just Lexa_ , but gives a slight not, the stiffness in her shoulders lessening.

Another slight pause, and then Lexa breaks the silence by clearing her throat.

“What is it you came to my tent at such an hour Clarke?” Lexa asks

Now it’s Clarke’s turn to be embarrassed. Her cheeks and neck warm slightly as she avoids eye contact with Lexa.

“Oh I-” Clarke pauses, “Would it be possible if-” She stops again.

Taking a deep breath, Clarke gathers her courage and asks the question she struggled with.

“I was having a hard time falling asleep after getting used to sleeping with you every night these past few nights, and I was wondering if I could sleep here. With you.” Clarke finishes lamely, frowning at her own choice of words.

A small chuckle from Lexa causes her to look up.

“That’s it?” Lexa asks disbelievingly.

“Uhhh yeah,” Clarke answers, growing red from embarrassment and feeling an overwhelming desire to hide her face in her hands.

Instead of answering her, Lexa walks past the blonde, into her sleeping quarters. Clarke watches the room divider, awaiting the return of the brunette, only to hear her voice a moment later.

“Are you coming, Clarke?” Lexa calls.

Clarke walks into the dark room, stopping in the entrance to give her eyes a moment to adjust. Lexa lies in her bed, one arm tucked underneath her, the other holding her furs up in an inviting gesture.

Clarke smiles at the girl. She takes a moment to strip out of her shoes and clothes, then joins her in the bed.

They lay in Lexa’s bed, basking in their love and affection for the other. Soaking in the brief reprieves they know will be far and few between.

 _“Ai hod yu in, Leksa kom Trikru,”_ Clarke whispers.

“I love you, Clarke kom Skaikru,” Lexa whispers back.

Clarke smiles, and then shove Lexa’s shoulder slightly. “Now roll over, we both know you’re the little spoon here,” Clarke murmurs sleepily.

Lexa goes to argue, her mouth opening, but knows it’s a lost cause. Instead, the brunette turns over, pulling Clarke’s arms around her.

“That’s better,” Clarke whispers, quickly falling into a dreamless sleep.

Lexa follows just seconds later.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Lexa and Clarke stand on opposite sides of the war table, dressed in their battle leathers.

Lexa dons her crimson sash and leathers, the red fabric streaming down her body in her signature style. Her hair is braided simply, done this morning by Clarke’s novice hands, but well enough to tame her mane of wild bed head.

Clarke wears a new set of leathers, a present from Lexa’s personal stash of armor and weaponry. Her breastplate and greaves are a dark black with a sky-blue thread entwined into the fabric to leave a light trim. Her hair is also braided, each strand twisted and pulled to create an elegant pattern that looks as if it belongs to a signature monarch.

The two leaders await the arrival of the other twelve clan’s representatives, exchanging glances and small talk.

“I guess we’ll have to deal with A.L.I.E after overthrowing Pike,” Clarke says casually, as if she isn’t discussing _yet another_ life or death situation.

Lexa nods. “Yes, and you said the only way to destroy this _tek_ is with the Flame?” She asks, still slightly hesitant to discuss the Flame as a piece of technology, as Clarke said it was.

She truly hadn’t wanted to believe Clarke when she spoke of the Flame, the City of Light, and _Bekka Pramheda_ , but she hasn’t lied to her yet and she’s been right about every other prediction thus far. The idea that her, and her entire people’s, religion is based on old earth technology had been hard for her to digest, but she had managed.

“As far as I know,” Clarke says, “I’m hoping Raven will be able to figure out a way for me to go into the City of Light without having to remove the A.I. from your neck.” Clarke scratches at her chin, a quizzical look on her face as she goes over ideas in her head.

Lexa tilts her head to the side slightly, like that of a lost puppy. Her brow furrows as she regards Clarke with a sense of curiosity.

“Of course,” Lexa agrees, “I will need the Flame regardless, to enter the city with you.”

Clarke’s head snaps from her trance, her eyes wide in shock and horror.

“You don’t need to go with me Lex, I can do this alone,” Clarke says coolly.

“Clarke, if you’re going into the city, then so am I.”

“Absolutely not,” Clarke shakes her head, her hackles rising at the idea of Lexa entering the City.

Lexa crosses her arms, staring back at Clarke.

“I’m going, Clarke.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Lexa, no.”

“Clarke, yes.”

Both girls watch the other with their arms crossed. Standing their ground and refusing to budge an inch.

“Why are you so scared of the idea of me going in with you?” Lexa asks. “Did you not say I helped you reach your goal the last time you were in the city? That we fought side by side in the simulation?”

There’s a long pause, Clarke eyes flicking around the room before landing on Lexa, then returning to the room. Finally, she sighs and then looks back at Lexa.

“Lexa, it’s-”

Clarke is cut off by the sound of the tent flaps opening. Three clan representatives walk into the room, their heads high and shoulders stiff as they take their places at the war table. Soon after, the other clan representatives arrive, signaling the beginning of the war meeting.

Lexa looks across the war table at Clarke, noticing the blonde still watches her. They both nod, an agreement.

This conversation will continue later.

 

* * *

 

The night is still.

The wind is calm, the insects do not chirp, the fires do not crackle. The only disturbance comes from the faint hum of Arkadia, the metallic ship emitting energy and sound with the machine that keep it alive from within the cold exterior.

There’s a pause. No one moves. No one breathes.

And then, a low piercing whistle disturbs the stillness.

A single arrow rains from the skies above, flames dancing from its head. The arrow’s aim is true, traveling through the midnight sky to pierce the chest of a _Skaikru_ guard.

His screams of agony and terror cut through the night, his body flailing as he becomes engulfed in flames. A second later, he falls; his burning figure crashing from the guard post he once stood at to the dirt below.

Another second later, chaos ensues.

The terrified screams of an entire camp can be heard for miles in every direction. Mothers and fathers get their children to safety. Guards rush to their posts. A single, booming voice shouts over the hysteria, trying to gain some semblance of control and structure over the terrified screams and running of families and friends.

“Guards get to the posts!” Pike booms, “Everyone get inside and stay in your rooms! Lieutenant grab Green’s body and take him to the infirmary ward! Now!

There’s another pause, the sounds of terrified screaming fading away slightly as people move to follow orders and a slight measure of structure returns to the camp. And then, _more flaming arrows rain down._

The sky is lit in a dancing pattern of oranges and reds. Hundreds of flaming arrows rain down on the walls and inner grounds of Arkadia, casting a slight hue to the camp from outside looking in.

 _“GET INSIDE NOW!”_ Pike shouts over the return of terrified screams and crying children.

That’s their cue.

Lexa turns to Clarke, her eyes dark behind the Commander’s warpaint and hardened at the sound of death. Regardless, just a brief glance from her favorite emerald pools is enough to calm the nerves in Clarke’s chest, if even just slightly.

The two lock eyes for a moment, all the fires and thoughts of impending death melting away to give them both a final moment of peace before rushing into battle.

Clarke nods at the brunette, her own warpaint glistening slightly from the light of the hundreds of arrows raining from the skies above.

Clarke turns back to Octavia and Indra, noticing the younger girl watches the camp with a conflicted expression. Clarke reaches out, placing her hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Clarke murmurs, “it’s going to be all right. We gave them time to get the families and children inside, anyone that’s outside at this point will be traitors to us all.”

Octavia gives a shaky nod but seems to have regathered her determination.

“Besides,” Clarke continues, “we need a good distraction if we’re going to go rescue Lincoln and everyone else.” Clarke smiles at the brunette, giving her shoulder a final squeeze before returning her attention to Lexa.

“Ready?” Clarke asks.

At Lexa’s nod, the four of them race across the clearing, hidden by the shadows of night. As they grow near to the walls of Arkadia, the guards begin to return fire.

The roar of gunshots is deafening as muzzle flashes and bullet casing droppings cover the Arkadia walls. Flaming arrows rain from the sky as bullets fly recklessly into the tree lines, desperate to stop the barrage of blazing bolts piercing their skin and destroying anything flammable within camp.

When they reach their destination, Octavia immediately gets to work while the other three keep guard. Octavia turns to the wall, pushing some debris aside to reveal the maintenance shaft that leads into the walls of Arkadia.

After a few moments of silenced clicks and twists, a square panel is pulled from the wall; the dark depths of the inner Ark’s walls staring back at them as a gaping mouth, swallowing any light that enters.

They climb in, Octavia and Indra leading the way, as the four women use their keen eyesight and what little light that slips between the panels of the walls to traverse the maze of chutes and thin passageways.

After a few moments of silent exploration, they arrive at an intersection.

“Alright,” Clarke whispers, “this is where we split up. Octavia,” She turns to the girl, “you and Indra will go towards the part of the ship where Lincoln and the rest of the hostages are. Remember-”

Octavia interrupts her with a slightly mocking tone, “Yeah yeah, rescue the prisoners and then evacuate everyone else.” She recites, rolling her eyes in the dark confines of the dusty passage.

Lexa steps forward, silent till this point but a look of sheer determination gracing her face in the almost nonexistent light.

“Yes,” Lexa snaps, “and you will do this because your leaders say it so. And you will do it efficiently and without failure.” Her eyes are hard, staring down the warrior as if she were an immature child.

Octavia takes a step back, effectively reprimanded.

 _“Sha, Heda,”_ She whispers.

Lexa turns to Indra, the two locking eyes in a familiar and almost friendly sort of way. Indra nods, just as Lexa does a moment later. The seasoned warrior turns to her second, whispering a harsh word to the girl, before they take off down one of the two pathways.

Clarke and Lexa take the opposite direction, following along the walls and vents until they reach the Infirmary. The sounds of the wounded and the machinery that helps keep them alive echoing into the cramped space through the gaps in the walls.

Clarke and Lexa work their way around the infirmary, coming up to a single, large panel that looks weaker than the others.

Lexa positions herself in front of the panel, resting her weight against the wall behind her, while Clarke works her way further down to the nearest crease, a vent cover. Clarke peers through the gap, noticing they’re outside of her mom’s office that connects to the infirmary. Clarke does a quick check, scanning what she can see of the room and listening for anyone else. When she hears nothing, she signals to Lexa.

Lexa takes a steadying breath, and then throws all her strength into the panel. One well-placed kick later, the panel tears from the wall, crashing into the office with a loud clang.

The girls rush out of the walls, scanning the room for any threats and find none.

Clarke turns to Lexa, a new sense of nervousness and terror shining in her blue eyes.

“Ready to meet my mother… again?” Clarke asks, flashing Lexa a weak attempt at a confident grin, which settles as a slight frown.

Lexa takes Clarke’s hand, bring the back of it to her lips and leaves a lingering kiss, a reassurance for herself just as much as Clarke.

_“Sha.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay SO let's talk about a two things.
> 
> 1\. How did you guys like the chapter?
> 
> I wasn't 100% on this chapter but it did what I wanted to and was an essential chapter in progressing the story in the direction I have envisioned/written thus far. You'll notice we have a 3/4 day time jump (I reference it a few times, and also it's kind obvious?). Don't worry, I'm not just skipping the after effects of Titus's death and other things that occurred in that time span, that will be handled... but in my own crazy and probably ridiculous way. haha.
> 
> 2\. Why did I take like 6 fucking weeks to update? 
> 
> The answer, I'm an english major and my finals consisted of SOO many 10-20 page term papers. I died a little inside and I'm fairly certain I have carpal tunnel. Also I'm lazy and work part time so there's that. But who cares, I'm back now and slowly working back into the rhythm of things.
> 
> *inserts another shameless plug below*
> 
> talk/shout at me on tumblr! @ CharacterStructure
> 
>  
> 
> not sure where I wanted to put this, but I know I wanted to add it somewhere on the next update (this chapter). So, someone that read my work messaged me on tumblr a few weeks back (about a month and a half ago i think?) and we've talked just about everyday since. if you're reading this, you'll know who you are. thanks for being an incredible new friend, much love! <3


	8. They Say It's a Battle That Can't Be Won

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks mixed with a continuation from last chapter. We see Lexa's POV and what happened after Titus's death, how that will affect things, etc. Also, Lexa meets the in-laws.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy where do I start? How about I'm so sorry for the long wait! I really did try to update sooner but with the work hours I've had lately, personal drama I've had to deal with and a nasty case of writer's block (plus the constant self-deprecating thoughts I have about my writing)... it took a bit longer than I wanted.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this! Feel free to leave a comment and yell at me if you did/didn't. OR hmu on Tumblr (CharacterStructure, same as my Ao3) if you want to yell at me there for whatever reason, I talk all things haha.

_Thump. Thump._

_Thump. Thump._

_Thump. Thump._

_Her mind is erratic, her eyes are wild, her nerves are frayed, but her face is stoic; her expression that of it_ _s familiar stoicism. Her breathing timed with the slow, steady beat of her heart._

_Thump. Thump._

_“Titus you would do well-”_

_A muzzle flash. A deafening shot. A loud crash._

_A decision is made._

_Her grip tightens. The blade of her dagger dips further into the curve of his neck, tearing into the pale flesh with terrifying precision. With each inch she pulls across the man_ _’s throat, a slight squelch and the warmth of blood follows her knife's trail._

_A second of a struggle, and then he's_ _dead weight._

_Thump. Thump._

_The body drops to the floor, a dull thud as the lifeless figure crashes into a pool of his own blood._

_Complete silence follows._

_Thump. Thump._

_The warm stickiness of a man's_ _blood flows through her grip, coating the handle of her knife - a murderer's knife - and running to the tip of a blade, dripping to the ever-growing pool of crimson spreading across the greying stone floors._

_Thump. Thump._

_Thump. Thump._

_Thump. Thump._

_“Not the welcome party I was expecting Princess, mind helping me with my arm?” S_ _he hears the boy called Murphy say but can_ _’t take her eyes away from the sight before her._

_Titus. Titus Dead. Dead at her hands._

_The blood still drips from her hand, causing the knife's_ _handle to become slippery and fall from her grasp. The knife falls to the floor, splatting into the growing pool of blood._

_Thump. Thump._

_\---_

_Lexa's_ _not sure how long she stands there watching Titus's limp figure, waiting for- she doesn't know. Just waiting._

_His once-warm red blood has long cooled and hardened against her hands and arms. The pool of blood no longer grows and spreads, that too losing whatever life it might have had as it cools and congeals to the stone floors._

_His eyes are lifeless, staring back at her with a haunting familiarity in them; so similar to that of his disapproving gaze that would fall on her as a young natblida._

_Lexa doesn't_ _move. Her eyes never leave the body at her feet. She waits._

_A warm hand on her shoulder snaps Lexa from her trance, a cautious but steady grip squeezing at her stiff shoulder._

_Lexa finally takes her eyes from Titus's_ _body, looking up to cautious and nervous blue eyes. Eyes that she loves. Eyes that she could have lost. Eyes that she can’t help but be angry with right now._

_Lexa tears her arm from Clarke's_ _comforting grip, a burning fury blazing in her stone-cold eyes. She stares the shocked blonde down, her anger never wavering, never softening, under the glance of the girl she loves._

_She does a quick sweep of the room with her eyes, noticing the boy, Murphy is now gone, and the Sanctuary door that was once hanging open is now sealed shut._

_“Where is the boy, Murphy?” Lexa spits out, turning her heated attention back to the silent blonde._

_“I sent him to see a healer, the bullet only nicked his arm, he should only need minimal treatment,” Clarke says hesitantly, her brow furrowed._

_Lexa nods, sweeping the room once more with her eyes before looking back at the body at her feet. Allowing herself another few seconds of weakness, Lexa stares at her dead mentor, the knife which killed him, the evidence of his murder at her feet and on her hand._

_She allows one tear to escape her eye. One tear to trek down her cheek, to the bridge of her nose, running down to her upper lip. A moment later, she sweeps from the room, an increasingly worried and annoyed Clarke following two steps behind._

\---

_Hours later, the room is cast in a warm orange hue, the dozens of candles scattered about the room bouncing light off each surface they sit upon. Shadows stretch right after, covering unlit corners and various angles of the two girls in the mound of furs and pillows._

_Clarke and Lexa lay in her bed, bodies entwined and sleeping soundly - or Clarke sleeps soundly. The sound of a steady inhale and exhale, and the smallest of snores from time to time, has quickly become a comforting and calming presence for Lexa._

_Clarke sleeps with her arm and leg draped over the still-conscious Commander, her nose tucked into the back of Lexa's_ _neck - another reason she hears the slight snore every 8th or 9th breath from the blonde. Her hands rests on Lexa's bare front, one pressed against her chest, the other splayed across her abdomen, a spot Clarke has recently begun to circle and touch frequently when they share intimate moments._

_Lexa lays motionless, her gaze fixed on a single flickering candle across the room. Her body is tired, her eyes are heavy, but her mind is racing, constantly filled by thoughts of_ _‘what ifs’ and ‘whys’._

_Clarke had told her. Everything. And it was a lot - almost too much - to take in. Ontari and the nightbloods. The crumble of her coalition, her legacy she had spent her entire life working towards. A killer technology named Alie. Acid rain and other killer weather. Another conclave. A bunker beneath the tower._

_The commander side of her, the one who lives and breathes war and destruction. The side of her that wants what is best for her people, no matter what she must do to achieve it. The side of her that must think of everyone, of all 12- 13 clans. That part of her wants to tackle each of these issues; to face each of her foes._

_The warlord, the fierce beast that lives within her and she calls upon when the need arises, claws and roars at her chest, searching for something to destroy, something to attack, anything to prevent all the horrible events Clarke says are inevitable._

_And then, the other side of her. The Leksa side. The heart. The tiniest flame of hope, of love, in her mind. The small part of her that she hid away when she rose to the throne and locked away when Costia's_ _head was delivered to her bedside. The same part of her that Clarke has chipped away at piece by piece, slowly destroying any bit of resistance, or withholding of these same emotions - these weaknesses._

_Her heart - her weakness - wants to take Clarke into her arms, travel to one of her many unknown hidden safe harbors beyond the borders of Coalition land and live out their lives. Together._

_Lexa scoffs at herself, physically shaking her head as if the motion might remove the thought from her mind._

_A raspy voice behind her, muffled by the mane of brunette locks that she burrows in, snaps Lexa from her spiraling thoughts of destruction and self-deprecation._

_“Thinking about it won’t solve anything tonight,” Clarke murmurs, still half asleep. “Go to bed Lex,” She whispers, nuzzling further into the warmth of Lexa’s neck._

_Lexa does just the opposite. The brunette begins to untangle herself from the mess of furs and limbs she finds herself in, much to the displease of the grumbling blonde that levels a heavy lidded glare at the girl who disturbed her peaceful sleep._

_Lexa flips to her other side, facing Clarke now. A pregnant pause ensues, both leaders holding the others eye, but neither speaking. Clarke waiting for Lexa to discuss whatever troubles her mind and Lexa gathering the courage to do so._

_“Ontari.” Lexa says, the first of a long list of concerns that cause her unrest._

_Clarke sighs, already shaking her head back and forth into the pillow as she says,_ _“She didn’t have an opening this time. You’re still here. You’re still alive. And we’ve put measures in place to better prepare. You’ve increased the guards that watch over the Nightbloods. You’ve changed their routine to keep them closer to the tower at all times. We can handle her later,” Clarke reassures her, reaching across the slight gap between them to give Lexa’s hand a quick squeeze._

_“Paimfaya,” Lexa starts again, only to stop once again when Clarke places a delicate hand on her cheek._

_“Hey,” Clarke soothes the troubled Commander, “We can’t do anything about Praimfaya right now without Raven’s help. Like I said, she’s the only person I know who might be able to figure out a way for us to save more of our people.”_

_Lexa hums a noncommittal noise, clearly unimpressed with the idea of_ _‘waiting for a better time’._

_Their night continues like this for another hour or so, Lexa listing off each issue or upcoming challenge they will encounter and Clarke assuaging her concerns, reassuring the brunette they will get through each one - together._

_By the time Lexa finishes her list, the candles that light the room burn much lower in their holders, the only real evidence that time had passed in the confines of Lexa_ _’s room - their one place of sanctuary and reprieve from the world outside._

 _Sensing Lexa is finished airing her thoughts, Clarke scoots closer to the warm body beside her, resting her head on the brunette_ _’s shoulder._

_“Go to sleep Lexa,” she whispers into the silence of the night, “we can talk about this more in the morning,” Clarke reassures her, already losing the battle of staying awake as her lids begin to droop and her breathing slows._

_Lexa nods, her chin rubbing against the mess of blonde curls that lay on top of her._

_Minutes pass, both girls growing closer and closer to sleep, when Clarke disturbs the drowsy silence, a final thought occurring to her sleep-deprived mind._

_“What about the Flamekeeper?” Clarke asks, her voice heavy and slow._

_“Titus is dead Clarke, I would assume you would recall these events.” Lexa replies wryly, only to grunt slightly when a light slap against her shoulder comes from the blonde on top of her._

_“Who knew the Commander had a sense of humor,” Clarke retorts, “What would the other ambassadors think if they saw such a moment of humanity from their stoic Commander?”_

_“There are many things of mine that only you have seen. I had assumed you did not want to share with the other ambassadors,” Lexa teases lightly, running her fingers up and down the smooth, pale skin of Clarke’s arm._

_“Hosh op,” Clarke says weakly, much to her own chagrin as Lexa chuckles softly at her tone._

_A moment of silence passes before Clarke restates her question, clarifying this time._

_“Who will be the new Fleimkepa?” Clarke inquires softly, her eyes falling closed with the weight of anticipated slumber._

_Another moment of silence passes._

_“Skrish,” Lexa whispers harshly into the night, careful to not disturb the sleeping blonde beside her._

 

 _She hadn_ _’t thought of that either._

* * *

 

Her senses are assaulted by the sounds of mechanical whirring and beeps, pained groans and grunts, and the easily distinguishable voice of _former_ Chancellor Griffin, as soon as Clarke opens the door to Abby’s office.

The blonde opens the door, just slightly, enough room to stick her head out and scan the medical ward. Seconds later, Clarke eases the door shut, looking back towards Lexa.

“The coast is clear- from what I can tell. Besides my mom and Jackson, the only other people in the room are Pike’s injured soldiers, and most of them look to be on pretty strong sedatives,” Clarke explains the situation in the next room, making slight hand gestures as she does.

Lexa nods, her expression composed and calculating. “Alright, what do you believe our next move should be?”

“Why are you asking me?” Clarke asks quizzically, “Between the two of us, you have much more experience in the art of battle and infiltration.”

“You should not doubt your abilities, _Klark kom Skaikru_ , I have nothing but faith in your plan, in your decision judgment,” Lexa steps forward, bringing a gloved hand to rest on Clarke’s tense shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. Lexa holds Clarke’s gaze, trying to put every ounce of respect and adoration she has, not only for the blonde herself, but also for her role as a leader, in the heartfelt moment.

The slightest reprieve from the chaos occurring just feet from them outside the hull of Arkadia only lasts for a second, a sudden noise disturbing the quiet moment between the two girls. Clarke and Lexa whip their heads to the source, _the door._ And the slow twisting of the doorknob.

“Shit.” “ _Skrish._ ” Both girls harshly whisper, Clarke’s eyes wide and panicked, Lexa’s eyes narrowing in caution, drawing the sword from her side slowly as not to create any more noise.

Time seems to slow down, each second stretching on for 3, each breath slow and timed. The knob twists slowly, clicking more and more as it turns. Finally, the door swings open.

A flash of brunette hair and an outstretched arm are the first things Lexa sees, her hand already clenching tighter around the pommel, the marble design digging into her skin. The next thing she sees is a white lab coat and a look of surprise that eerily reminds her of the girl beside her, the same furrowed brow and slightly pouty lips apparently being hereditary.

 _Abby_.

The doctor and _former_ chancellor shuts the door behind her, her eyes never once leaving the girls in her office. Abby’s eyes flicker back and forth, unsure of which girl’s presence she might address first. Finally, her mind is made, as she locks eyes with her daughter, the stiffness in her stance melting away as she moves towards Clarke.

“Mom,” Clarke breathes out in a sigh of relief, meeting Abby in a crushing hug, the two Griffin women clutching onto one another for dear life. Clarke tucking her head into her mother’s shoulder, Abby cradling the back of her daughter’s head with the tenderness only a mother’s love could define.

After a long moment in one another’s embrace, Abby steps back from her daughter.

“How did you get here? Does Pike know you’re here? Who else knows?” Abby rambles off nervously, her eyes scanning the blonde girl before her as she checks for any visible injuries.

Clarke chuckles, as she brushes the persistent woman’s hands away. “Mom I’m fine,” She reassures her, taking another half-step back. Abby concedes, although begrudgingly, dropping her arms to her sides.

“I still don’t understand,” Abby starts again, a little skepticism in her voice, “how could you have gotten in here past all the-” Abby pauses, her voice slowly fading out. The doctor’s brow furrows again as her eyes dart around the room, focusing on the Commander, her daughter, the hole in the wall they entered from, and back again.

Just as quickly as she has calmed down, Abby’s expression darkens, her fiery glare turning to Lexa.

“You,” she all but spits at Lexa, her hand creeping back into the pocket of her lab coat. A second later, Abby pulls a scalpel from her pocket, holding it out in front of her as if the tiny blade might act as a sword. Lexa tenses but leaves her sword at her side, hoping she won’t have to harm Clarke’s mother, even as an act of defending herself.

Abby begins to advance on Lexa, taking cautious steps towards the Commander as she holds the weapon between the two. Abby is halfway across the room when Clarke steps between them, her hand coming to rest on her mother’s shoulder.

“Mom,” Clarke says, “she’s here with me, this isn’t her fault.”

Abby seems to ignore her daughter’s words, instead reaching out to pull her daughter behind her to safety even as she keeps her eyes trained on her target.

“Get behind me Clarke,” Abby demands, which Lexa can’t help but scoff at. _As if she_ _’d ever endanger Clarke_.

Clarke doesn’t budge, instead pushing on her mother’s shoulder with more aggression.

“Mom!” Clarke snaps at her mother harshly, anger apparent in her matching fiery glare.

“Clarke, I said get behind me!” Abby tries to pull her again, but Clarke just shoves her arm away.

“Mom, it’s not her fault Arkadia is under attack. It’s mine!”

“Her warriors- _her people_ ,” she spits with a venomous tone, “are attacking us right now Clarke-” Clarke cuts her mom off once again.

“No mom, I made the plan. I planned the attack, I planned the flaming arrows - _a_ _distraction for us to infiltrate_ \- it was my plan. And those are my people too.” Clarke exclaims, taking a step back towards the Commander as if to prove her point.

Abby stops, her eyes drifting back and forth between the two leaders. Clarke takes another step back, coming to stand beside the Commander. On reflex, Lexa’s right hand moves slightly, a reflex to touch the blonde when she stands so close. In return, Clarke leans into the brunette almost instinctively, her face becoming much more relaxed and calm than just moments ago.

The room goes quiet, Clarke and Lexa engaged in some sort of a standoff with the blonde’s mother. Their feet rooted to the spot, questioning glances and furrowed brows exchanged between the two Griffin women as Lexa remains stoic, her eyes never leaving the outstretched hand of Abby that still wields a scalpel.

Finally, Abby’s arm drops back to her side, the scalpel returning to her coat pocket. Her eyes leave her daughter’s, drifting to the brunette beside her. When they lock eyes, Lexa already knows what the doctor will say before she speaks; her narrowed eyes and the crease between her brow too similar to her daughter’s expression when she’s angry and wants to understand something she cannot.

“Explain” Abby demands, her eyes never wavering from Lexa’s.

 

* * *

 

 

_It's_ _later in the night, just a few short hours away from the light of a new day to breach the horizon once again. The city of Polis sleeps; parents and children tucked away in the safety of their homes, drunkards stumbling home or passing out in any dark alley, sentry guards standing silently at their post._

_The city of Polis sleeps but Lexa does not. Even if a part of her wishes, aches, to be back in the comfort of her furs. Aches to have her arm wrapped around a soft, warm torso. Aches to tuck her face into the silk of golden hair. Aches to hold her love through the night._

_But she cannot, not yet. Not until she puts a certain change into motion. Not until she lays the groundwork for a new future, for herself, for Clarke, and for their people._

_The first part of her plan goes into effect, tonight._

_Lexa stands at the head of a mostly barren table, a few candles scattered about the dusty surface to cast the cramped room into light. The table is the only piece of furniture in the room, taking up the very center of the room and leaving enough space for others to squeeze around the wooden surface. The air is stale and scented with the burning of candle wicks, the lack of ventilation already causing the room to feel slightly uncomfortable._

_The Commander's_ _back is straightened, and shoulders are stiff. Her hair is down, her armor and pauldron in their appropriate places on her figure. The only piece missing from her usual regal attire is the familiar pattern of three kohl stained tears dripping down her cheeks. She stands with the dignity and power of a ruler, her eyes sharp, one hand resting on the pommel of a sword, the other mere inches from the knife on her thigh - fingers flexing and waiting for a reason to use it._

_Finally, after long minutes of standing in silence, the small door shifts as someone slowly pushes it open from the other side. Lexa's_ _grip on her sword tightens, her arm flexing with the anticipation of drawing her sword. She remains still, her breath held, her knees bent slightly, ready to defend herself against whatever might come through the door._

_Indra walks in slowly, her sword drawn and eyes alert. When she sees Lexa, the younger girl in similar stance of aggression, she lowers her sword._

_“Heda,” Indra greets, returning her sword to the sheath at her side._

_“Indra,” Lexa returns respectfully, loosening her grip on the weapon at her side._

_There's_ _a few seconds of silence, Indra taking a place at the table to Lexa's left, watching the Commander with a curious brow._

_“I will explain when the others arrive Indra,” Lexa reassures her, never taking her watchful eyes from the doorway._

_“Others? Who else are we-?” Indra starts, but is cut off by a slight thump as the door is pushed open once more, an older man steps into the room, seemingly hesitant as he looks around the room, but knows he’s in the right place when his eyes land on the Commander._

_The man steps to the other side of the table, his gray beard shimmering slightly in the low light. He's_ _taller than both Indra and Lexa, his body large and chest broad, his figure muscular and intimidating. However, as he steps further into the light, his face takes shape. His worn skin and aged eyes hold a look of respect for the Commander he stands before, a complete contrast to the thick and angry scars carved across his cheeks and forehead._

_“Heda,” the man grunts, his great beard shifting slightly with the spoken words._

_“Kaleb, Bandrona kom Azgeda, thank you for joining us,” Lexa nods to the man, looking him over once more before returning her attention to the door._

_Shortly thereafter, the final members of her requested meeting arrive. Five more ambassadors surround the table, bringing the total count in the room to 8. Herself, Indra, and six representatives from the clans she places the most trust, or she believes to be most likely in supporting the decision she intends to make._

_When the door swings shut for the final time, Lexa turns her attention to the gathered ambassadors, and Indra, leveling her gaze across the table, stopping on each individual in the room for a short moment before moving to the next._

_After a long pause, pregnant with curious glances between the ambassadors and long stares from the Commander, Lexa speaks._

_“I apologize for calling you from your beds at such an hour, from waking you in the middle of the night,” She begins. “This meeting, as usual, will be held separate from withstanding issues and meetings in the throne room or anywhere else. If you are here, it is because I have faith everyone in this room will see reason in the things I plan to discuss tonight.”_

_Lexa pauses for a second, taking notice of the many nodding heads of the ambassadors in the room, most of them familiar with the workings of the meetings held within the room. Her focus shifts to the only newcomer, the newly appointed Ambassador of Azgeda. Her eyes rest on him for a long moment, the gruff man mirroring her with his own gaze, thoughtful and considering as he scratches slightly at the gray wisps of his beard._

_Finally, Kaleb nods as well, and the meeting has begun._

_“I will make this quick,” Lexa starts, turning her calm expression back to the other ambassadors. “The flamekeeper is dead,” She pauses for a moment, blinking once, then twice, and continues, “by my hand.”_

_Immediately, two of the ambassadors go to speak, but Lexa cuts them off with a wave of her hand._

_“That is only part of the reason I have called you all here tonight. I will discuss his death with the rest of the ambassadors, at the morning session. I only tell you this to make it known that there is no longer a flamekeeper, Polis has no keeper, and I no longer hold an adviser._

_There's_ _another pause, Lexa taking in the various states of shock and confusion on each face in the room, even Indra watches her with a heavily furrowed brow._

_“I have already decided who might take over as the flamekeeper, as well as who I will give the position of Keeper of Polis and my adviser,” Lexa exclaims, allowing a brief pause for the others in the room to react._

_“Heda Leksa, if I may ask,” Lyra, ambassador of the Podakru speaks up, “who will take the role as fleimkepa?”_

_Lexa nods at the question before turning to her left, locking eyes with Indra. They exchange nods, a mutual understanding and agreement between the two of them._

_“Gaia kom Trikru, the oldest and most trusted scout of the Flame, will take the role as my new Fleimkepa,” Lexa speaks authoritatively, but also allowing a hint of pride to seep into her voice; that same pride mirrored in the slight sheen she can see in Indra’s eyes._

_A few murmurs of agreement begin around the table, some of the ambassadors whispering lightly amongst themselves._

_“However,” Lexa begins again, her eyes growing sharper, harsher, “she will not serve as my adviser, nor as the Keeper of Polis.”_

_“But Heda, it is tradition for the fleimkepa to rule over Polis, especially in your absence due to wartime or other conflicts that might take you from your station._

_“Yes, that is tradition,” Lexa begins, nodding towards the questioning ambassador. “However, traditions are changing, our history does not dictate the future. The mountain is no more, new civilizations rain from the stars, all 12 clans - soon to be 13 once again - live under one banner. We are changing, as a people, and I hope to see our governing change with it.”_

_“Then who will act as your adviser, your second in command, Heda?”_

_Lexa smiles, just slightly, a barely there smirk that remains unnoticeable in the dim light. Then she speaks._

 

 

* * *

 

The hours of the night stretch on, stars twinkling and the moon traveling across the midnight sky. The promise of an oncoming dawn laps at their heels, the time window to complete their current mission closing with each passing minute.

Lexa and Clarke stand near escape route from Arkadia, watching and guarding the gaping blankness of the maintenance entrance, now interrupted by the steady flow of evacuating Arkadians.

To their left, Octavia, Lincoln, and the other escaped _Trikru_ help guide the _Skaikru_ out of the dark passageways and into the safety of the tree line. Groups of 4 or 5 civilians being led quickly and stealthily by _Trikru_ warriors into the night, seeking the safety of the shadows and thick trees they run to.

Abby stands off to their right side, her back pressed to the wall so as not to be seen. Kane stands at her side, his beard rough and unkempt from his days in lockup, talking to her in a low tone. His presence by her side seeming to ease most of the tension in her shoulders, her stance much more relaxed than just hours ago when they first put the plan into action.

Lexa had given Abby a brief rundown of the plan and infiltration, as well as their roles in the evacuation. She also gave a short update on the status of the Coalition, and their joined effort of bringing _Skaikru_ back into the Coalition as the 13th clan once again. Clarke had reassured her mom repeatedly, reminding her that _“this was my plan”_ and _“this is what’s best for everyone”_ and _“they’re are my people too”_.

The doctor had reluctantly agreed to help them, although clearly distrusting of Lexa, her icy glare all too familiar to that of her daughter’s.

Lexa had left out the part about her plan to introduce Clarke as her adviser, and for all intents and purposes, her 2nd in Command - Clarke herself didn’t even know of the power she would soon hold, should she accept.

_They could have that discussion another day._

After evacuating the medical bay and releasing the prisoners from lockup - a overjoyed and giddy Octavia meeting them in the exit route, her hand firmly clasped with Lincoln’s - they had begun going room to room, door to door, evacuating all the innocent families within the hull of Arkadia.

Abby had coordinated for a while, reassuring the people wary of following Lexa or Clarke for that matter, the blonde looking more grounder than _Skaikru_ these days with her braided hair, the leathers Lexa had special made for her, and the warpaint streaked across her cheeks. When they reached the exit, Indra and the rest of the _Trikru_ took over, separating and grouping together the evacuees, preparing them for the trek across the clearing.

And so they emptied Arkadia from within, room by room, family by family, until the only ones left were on the perimeter, returning fire into the trees as arrows rained down by the dozens. Just as the final minutes of the night begins to give way to the birth of a new day, the first rays of a sunrise creeping over the horizon, the final family had crossed into the trees.

All that remained was Clarke, Lexa, Octavia, and Lincoln, waiting till the final group had disappeared into the foliage.

“Alright, I think that’s everyone,” Clarke said, sliding the cover back into place with the help of the barely-there light from the early morning sun. She turns to Lexa, locking eyes with the girl who stayed with her throughout the entire night, a comfort for them both, and she can’t help the loving smile she flashes the Commander.

Lexa returns the smile, the threatening charcoal streaked under her eyes doing nothing to change the gentle adoration she watches Clarke with.

Octavia clears her throat, breaking the two lovers from their intense eye contact. “We’ve gotta go now,” Octavia whispers harshly, followed immediately by a pained grunt, Lincoln elbowing the smaller girl, his eyes wide in horror.

“ _Heda_ does not answer to us, we answer to _Heda_ ,” Lincoln reprimands Octavia, his annoyance still clear past the deep colored bruising that covers his face, a reminder of the brutality he faced by the hands of Pike and his forces while being held captive.

“It is fine-” Lexa begins, making a waving gesture with her hand as she speaks, but Clarke cuts her off.

“No Lexa, it’s not okay,” Clarke snaps at her friend, careful to keep her voice low to not be overheard, even with the ringing of gunshots and harsh shouts from within the walls.

Clarke covers the distance between the two in seconds, finding herself inches from Octavia.  Keeping her voice low, low enough neither Lexa or Lincoln will hear her, Clarke basically spits the next words from her mouth.

“You will respect your _Heda_. If you are _Trikru_ as you claim,” Clarke jabs a finger into Octavia’s chest, her friend wearing a matching expression of barely contained rage, her jaw working back and forth and eyes fiery.

“If being around Lexa bothers you, I suggest you leave. If you can’t get over the past, and if you can’t get over the fact that we are together,” Octavia’s eye twitches, her anger increasing at that statement.

Clarke pauses, her chest rising and falling heavily. “I don’t care what you think about her as a person Octavia, and I especially don’t care what you think about us together. But you should know, I will choose her every time. If it’s between the two of you? I will choose her. If it’s between Lexa and _anyone,_ I will choose her,” Clarke basically shouts the last part, her anger at her friend being too much to keep quiet.

The two girls stay deadlocked for a long moment, neither making a move to speak or to attack the other. After what felt like hours, Octavia exhales harshly, her shoulders relaxing as she does.

“Fine,” Octavia relents. Turning to Lexa, Octavia dips her head out of respect and apology. _“Moba, Heda,”_ She says quickly, then turns to grab Lincoln by the hand, dragging him with her as they escaped into the trees.

“I am impressed Clarke, you finally stood up to your friends. Even if it was not for yourself, but for me instead,” Lexa says casually, almost as a friend.

“I know,” Clarke exhales harshly, turning back to the brunette. “I have a blind spot for them, I know. I’m trying to be better about it,” She frowns to herself.

Lexa smiles slightly, moving to wrap an arm around the blonde now that they’re alone.

“I know,” Lexa tells her encouragingly, squeezing Clarke into a small hug as she does. “I am proud of you, _ai niron_.”

Clarke’s just glad it’s too dark for Lexa to see the crimson blush of her cheeks.

“Alright, we have to go. Before it gets too light and we’re both shot this time.” Clarke realizes what she’s said, but brushes it off, deciding it’s more important to get to safety than focus on her poor attempt at humor.

The girls take one look behind them, the scrap metal walls of Arkadia beginning to take shape and color with the rising sun, before turning to the trees. Just as they’re about to sprint to the safety of the trees, a loud crash comes from behind them. Lexa and Clarke whip behind them, the former drawing two swords on reflex, the latter leveling a pistol on the new disturbance.

A dark-haired boy steps from the hole they had been standing at all night, his rifle raised and trained on Lexa. On reflex, Clarke steps between them once more, her eyes pleading yet conflicted.

“Bellamy?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow so that marks (roughly) the 30K word mark for this little story and I have no plans on stopping anytime soon. I really can't believe this little idea I had one night of a short one-off that I'd never share or post online turned into... this. Thank you all so much for the support, comments, kudos, messages, bookmarks, etc etc! It really does mean a lot that people have given me praise and constructive criticism on this because that was my ultimate goal from posting, to get better as a writer and to come out of my shell as a writer - if only a bit. I definitely feel like I've progressed in my style and the way that I write, but I'm still nowhere near happy with where I'm at and thankfully have wonderful resources like Ao3 to share and practice my "craft". So this means a lot to me on multiple levels.. thank you! seriously!
> 
> Also, I would have never thought I'd hit 650 kudos on here. I expected like 100-150 at most tbh. Idk if i deserve so many ppl supporting me, but I am most certainly thankful! So, thank you guys! From the bottom of my heart <3
> 
>  
> 
> \- special love for the two people who read this, reached out to me on tumblr to chat, and are now two ppl I would consider a friend. wont name names but you know who you are <3 <3 -


	9. It's Safe to Leave Your Doubts Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions are rising. Doubts are had. Some fluff ensues. 
> 
> And a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the 3-weeks wait!! But, at least it wasn't 5 or 6 weeks this time, right? Anyways, this is a chapter that I've been most looking forward to for a very long time. It actually contains the 2nd or 3rd scene I outlined and drafted for this fic when I decided it would be more than a two-shot. Not a lot happens in this chapter, as far as action and progression in the story - in fact all 9k+ words follow the span of just a few hours. BUT, this is something that I think a lot of you will have seen coming - I have left a bit of foreshadowing in earlier chapters - and I think it's something that will make sense later down the road if it doesn't right away.
> 
> Sorry for the ambiguous ramble, I'm just super excited/nervous about this chapter. I don't want to spoil TOO much so I'll leave a longer explanation of sorts in the notes at the end. Enjoy!

“Get out of the way Clarke,” Bellamy growls, his aim leveled on the girl behind her.

“I can’t do that Bell,” Clarke says slowly, eying the barrel of Bellamy’s gun while trying to remain between the weapon and its target - _Lexa_.

“I said move, Clarke!” Bellamy steps further into the opening, shortening the distance as he slowly crosses towards them.

With each step Bellamy takes, time seems to slow down. Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke can see Lexa tense and her hands flexing around the pommels of her swords. She sees the narrowing of green eyes, homing in on their target.

Clarke knows Lexa can handle Bellamy if he gets too close- hell she'd probably kill him on the spot. She knows Lexa could have already disarmed him with a well-placed knife thrown with precision. And she knows the only reason Lexa hasn’t done so is simply for Clarke’s sake.

Yet, she also knows the power of a single bullet; has witnessed and experienced the devastation one can leave behind.

And as Bellamy continues to cross the clearing towards Clarke and Lexa, getting close enough she can see the desire to harm - _to_ _kill_ \- simmering like coals and embers in his dark eyes. She knows if she doesn’t do something, if she doesn’t stop this before it can start, someone she loves will die right in front of her.

But she’s not going to let that happen, _not again_.

“Stop,” Clarke raises her arm once more, leveling the end of her pistol on Bellamy. Enough of a shock that both Bellamy and Lexa freeze in place, their gaze shifting from one another to the blonde between them, their eyes locking on the gun in Clarke’s hands.

“Clarke,” Bellamy stops, looking between the gun focused on him to its wielder. “What are you doing?” He asks slowly, hesitantly. “Shoot her, she’s the enemy!” Bellamy jerks his gun in Lexa’s direction, the anger in his eyes back as quick as it left.

“No.”

“What? Clarke, she is the enemy. This,” Bellamy gestures behind him to the continued gunfire and arrows being exchanged, “is her and her people. These _savages_ are attacking us and killing our own. They’ve been killing us since we landed on the ground. How could you possibly side with the enemy?”

Bellamy spits the accusations at Lexa, his voice laced with venom and hatred. As expected, Lexa doesn’t flinch, her only reaction coming as a displeased hum when Bellamy refers to her people as savages.

“We were invaders, Bellamy,” Clarke snaps, desperate for Bellamy to understand just why Lexa’s people attacked then, and why they’re attacking now.

“We have just as much right to this land as these savages. We’ve bled for this land, we lost hundreds when ARK station came down and dozens more once we landed on the ground.”

Clarke is about to respond, to correct Bellamy that they _do not_ have a right to this land that Lexa’s people already occupied, and Lexa has lost _thousands_ to the Mountain, and in the numerous wars fought to get all 12 clans under a central banner. However, before she can correct Bellamy, Lexa beats her to it.

“Dozens? Hundreds?” Lexa asks patronizingly, barking out a rough laugh as she shakes her head. “My _people_ , these savages you have described us as, have been bled by the Mountain for centuries. Thousands of men, women, and children have been taken from their homeland to be used as medicine for cowards too afraid of something they don’t understand and resort to violence instead of diplomacy.”

Bellamy is unperturbed, continuing to watch Lexa with what can only be described as dangerous intentions.

“Thousands more have fought, bled, and died, over generations of distrust and warring clans. Before I took the seat as Commander, there was no Coalition, there was not 12 clans under a single banner. If I am such a savage, what were my intentions in uniting warring factions of people to promote peace and prosperity? Why would a savage allow the _Azgeda_ , a people known for the vicious leadership and violent ways, into their ranks? What do I gain from promoting such ways, if not the chance of peace and protection for my people?

Lexa begins to step out from behind Clarke, intending to stand face to face with the boy who mocks her people and justifies senseless murder as something other than what it truly was - _cowardice_.

Seeing this, Clarke grabs at Lexa with one hand, being sure to keep the gun in her other leveled at Bellamy while doing so.

“What’s the matter, Commander?” Bellamy sneers, gesturing towards Clarke with the gun in his hands. “Can’t fight your own battles? Standing down because one of us lowly _Skaikru_ told you to?”

Clarke rolls her eyes at his attempted mockery, squeezing Lexa’s wrist in a simple reassuring gesture. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Lexa stiffen at Bellamy’s remark, but the brunette seems to relent and soften with Clarke’s reassurance.

“Just shut up Bellamy. I’m not like Pike and his followers,” Clarke retorts, shooting the boy as harsh a glare as she can muster. “I don’t kill innocent people, volunteers sent to protect and keep the peace. I’m a murderer, but my kills have meaning and reason.”

She thinks of the mountain, and the lives lost there. She thinks of the hundreds of warriors she burned up at the dropship. She thinks of those that were condemned to death by _Praimfaya_ when the bunker door’s sealed.

She thinks of all the death, the loss of life and the ones she has taken. And as much as it still hurts to remember, Clarke can remember the reasons she made those decisions then, and why she’d make the same choice again - some she might have to.

Bellamy says nothing, apparently not expecting Clarke to snap at him in such a manner. His seething expression softening subconsciously as he seems to consider her words.

Taking this as an opening, Clarke continues in a much more pleading and hopeful tone.

“You’re not like this either Bellamy, I know you. I know you didn’t want to kill those people, but you were scared and hurt, and Pike came to you in a time when you were at your lowest. I know in your heart, deep inside, you regret all of this,” Clarke gestures with her hand in a sweeping motion to Arcadia and the continued fighting.

Bellamy falters slightly, his gun dropping as his gaze clouds with inner conflict. After a few seconds, his gaze snaps back to her, the fire back in his eyes.

“Just stop Clarke, you stand there protecting a murderer, a killer,” he nods towards Lexa. “You’re defending someone who killed- who is actively killing- our people, Clarke! Her people killed Gina! She made you kill Finn! How can you protect the murderer of the person you loved? She’s killed both of the people we love, and you are defending her as if we’re the bad guys! We’re not the bad guys here, Clarke, she is!”

“Enough!” Clarke nearly shouts. Tears cloud her vision, and her heart aches with the memory of all those she’s lost. Her hand shakes, if ever so slightly, as she tries to push down the memories of quiet moments in bunkers and stolen kisses around camp with the boy she thought she loved.

It’s been a long time since she thought about Finn, his death seeming like a lifetime ago - and in a way, it was.

There’s a heavy pause in the back and forth, both Lexa and Bellamy watching Clarke, awaiting her next move. And it’s in this moment, with the eyes of two of the people she cares for most in this world; the woman she loves and the friend who’s been by her side since the beginning of it all. It’s in this moment, with gunshots tapering off, the sun just creeping over the horizon, and time seemingly slowing to a halt, that Clarke realizes she has a decision to make - _a side to choose_.

Here they stand, on the precipice of another war. The promise of violence, destruction, and countless, senseless lives lost because of a man blinded by hatred. A man, Pike, who holds the support of dozens within Arkadia, leading men and women on a warpath that will only lead to more pointless death. A man convinced of his own righteousness, convincing his followers that they are entitled to a land that was never theirs. A man that has drawn a line and determined sides, one that Clarke stands in the middle of for the final time.

A part of her inner conscious pulls towards Bellamy and the safety of her people, some subconscious desire to save everyone within the walls of Arkadia just as her father tried to do back in space. In the _first world_ , Bellamy was an ally and a friend when he went with the others back into space. They were on their way to mending what was left of their friendship and worked towards the same goal, saving everyone- or everyone they could- from _Praimfaya_. Because of this, when she risked her life to send the group into space for safety, when she sentenced herself to certain death or 5 years stranded on an empty planet, it was with almost no regrets. And as she lay in Becca’s lab, recovering from the worst of her radiation poisoning, she was left with time to reflect on her time on the ground.

Clarke was on earth for less than a year, and she had already witnessed hundreds of deaths - many by her own hand. The constant struggle to _just survive_ and defeat _another enemy_ left her little time to grieve for her losses. And with almost no worries left, no unbearable weights placed on her shoulders, her mind was left with nothing but time to ponder the _‘maybe someday’_ because as it would seem, her someday had arrived.

And after spending over 3 months alone on a planet, her mind - _and heart_ \- were a constant reminder of her biggest regret. The only mistake she couldn’t forgive herself for, even after trying each and every night to do just that.

 

And so, Clarke makes her choice.

 

* * *

 

The walk to the blockade line passes slowly in a tense silence, the crunching leaves beneath their feet the only obstruction to the stillness - a result of the late Autumn weather blowing leaves from their trees and scattering the earth.

They’ve been walking for what feels like hours but has been less than a mile of the five mile trek. The rising sun to their backs, Clarke watches the shadows dance before them, stretching across the forest floor in intricate patterns of crisscrossed twigs and branches. Her legs ache slightly from overexertion after her and Lexa’s dead sprint into the canopy of trees.

A few more moments of silence pass between the two girls, the lack of communication filling the space between them with many things unsaid. Clarke cuts her eyes to the right every few steps, studying Lexa’s unreadable expression as best she can, hoping for some sort of hint or sign that the brunette might be upset with her or what had just occurred.

Clarke had thought her attempted observations were sly and well-hidden, but apparently that wasn’t the case. After her fourth or fifth glance, Lexa comes to a sudden halt, turning her attention to the puzzled blonde.

“Do you have something you would like to say, Clarke?” Lexa asks pointedly. At Clarke’s baffled expression, Lexa takes a half step towards her, asking again.

“Would you like to say something, Clarke?”

Clarke just shakes her head slightly, her eyes wide and confused as she stares back at the blank expression on Lexa’s face. She has no idea why the tone Lexa is using with her bothers her so much, it’s almost as if Lexa were talking to one of her subjects and not-

Lexa begins to walk away, seemingly fed up with waiting for a dumbstruck Clarke to speak audibly. But Clarke catches her wrist just as she begins to leave.

“What the hell, Lexa?” Clarke snapped at the brunette. Clarke tugs on the girl’s wrist, enough that Lexa actually stumbles a step, before yanking her arm back and turning on Clarke with a emerald fury burning in her eyes.

“How dare you-”

“How dare I? How dare I?” Clare hisses to Lexa, closing the gap between them to just inches as she steps towards the girl. “What the hell makes you think it’s okay to talk to me like I’m just another one of your subjects?”

Lexa raises a single brow, her face stoic and hardened, her features otherwise stiff as she stares the blonde down. “Did you not swear loyalty to the Coalition and your _Heda_ during the summit only days ago? Did you not drop to a knee before the representatives of the 13 clans-”

“Oh, save me the politics and the technicalities, Lexa. You know what I meant, why are you closing up on me right now? If this is about not shooting to kill, I know you think Bellamy deserves it, but I couldn’t just kill him.” At the mention of Bellamy’s name, Lexa’s nostrils flare and her jaw clenches. The brunette’s eyes narrow as she studies the blonde.

“That _boy,_ ” Lexa’s voice can only be described as a growl, “deserves things worse than death.” Lexa snaps at Clarke, her anger still glowing in her piercing green gaze. “He supports a man hellbent on committing genocide! He helped Pike and his followers kill 300 volunteers sent to protect them! You saw the bodies in the field Clarke; men and women, fathers and mothers, sons and daughters!” Lexa is seething, her chest visibly rising and falling heavily as she stares daggers back at the blonde.

Clarke stares back, her face still twisted in confusion and annoyance. “Lexa, I know all of these things. You were there with me, I told Bellamy what I thought of his _‘acts of heroism’_ ,” Clarke uses air quotes around the words. “Are you upset because I didn’t kill him there, just now? He’s my friend, Lex, and I care about him-” Lexa’s nostrils flare again, the only reaction visible on her otherwise expressionless face.

“Why does the fact that I care- oh,” Clarke pauses, taking a step back from the hardened Commander. “Are you jealous of Bellamy? Because I care about him?” She tilts her head to the size quizzically, arching a brow in question.

“Jealous?” Lexa guffaws, shaking her head from side to side. “Jealous of what? I rule over a coalition of thirteen clans. I am the most skilled fighter in the lands. What does that boy possess that I do not?”

“Nothing. You’re absolutely right, there is no reason for you to be jealous. I care about him, but I care about a lot of people. I care about you Lexa.”

“Clarke, you’re being ridiculous. I am not-”

Clarke steps forwards again, bringing her nearly chest-to-chest with the slightly taller girl. “Look me in my eyes, and tell me with absolute sincerity and honesty that you are not jealous of Bellamy.”

Lexa keeps their eye connection for long moments, unwilling to back down from Clarke’s challenge. Eventually, Lexa steps away, lowering her eyes to her boots. The next thing she says is barely audible, the sounds of the forest awakening from slumber almost drowning out the whispered words.

“You care about him, more than the others. You claim he fought by your side against _Praimfaya_ and acted as a moral compass, an adviser, for you in the month leading to the death wave. You try to protect him from the ramifications and consequences he is deserved. Is it such a stretch for me to think you might have deeper feelings for the boy?”

Lexa’s face is hard again, not angry or upset, just blank of any emotion. The only giveaway is the pain-filled eyes, shining brightly in the light of a new day breaking through the thick canopy of trees.

“Wait,” Clarke stutters out her response. “You think that I have feelings for Bellamy? That we are involved somehow?” Clarke takes in the misty green eyes and clenched jaw of the girl in front of her. She can tell Lexa must actually believe such a ridiculous notion, the brunette desperately trying to hold on to her familiar mask of stoicism.

“Lexa, there’s nothing going on between me and Bellamy,” She reassures the girl, reaching out to trace her hand down Lexa’s face, cupping the girl’s cheek in a soft caress. The motion causes Lexa to soften slightly. The brunette leans into the warm hand holding her face, closing her eyes with a heavy sigh.

“I care about him, yes, but not nearly as much as I care about you.” Clarke pauses again, bringing her other hand up to place her hand over the brunette’s heart. And then, in a much softer voice, Clarke continues.

_“Leksa kom Trikru, yu tombom dula op ain. Osir keryon ste teina.” (Lexa of Trikru, your heart beats with mine. Our souls are entwined.)_

Lexa sucks in a deep breath. The brunette’s eyes shoot open with a newfound wetness shining in them, matched by the glistening blue ones just inches away. Clarke holds her gaze, tracing her hand on the girl’s cheek down to her chin.

_“Ai hod yu in, Leksa kom Trikru. Ai hod yu op en nou moun.” (I love you, Lexa of Trikru. I love you and no other.)_

Clarke moves forward slowly, capturing Lexa’s trembling lips in a soft and slow kiss. A kiss she hopes will convey everything words cannot. A kiss she hopes will rid the final traces of worry and doubt about her love for Lexa from the girl’s mind. So, she kisses Lexa, already slowly leading the girl towards a nearby tree. And with this kiss, she also makes a promise to Lexa, and to herself.

This time, they will get their maybe someday.

 

* * *

 

Moments later, the two girls begin to close in on the blockade line. The subtle changes in her immediate surroundings, such as the slow dwindling of insect chirps and bird calls a dead giveaway to Lexa’s keen senses. Clarke walks by her side, keeping a respectable distance but remaining close enough that Lexa could reach out to touch the blonde - and oh how she wanted to.

She’d never admit it, but the past hour of events had been some of the most nerve-wracking in her life. Their standoff with the boy, Bellamy - even the thought of the ill-tempered child bringing a snarl to the back of her throat - had been pivotal for Clarke, and herself. Watching Clarke make that choice, to stay and fight by her side rather than continue to allow her people to sway her choices with a guilty conscience had been a sight to see, and one she was immensely proud of the girl for.

And while she would have much rather ended the boy’s life with the knife strapped to her thigh, a well-timed flick of the wrist and the knife would soar through the air into his chest before he could blink, Lexa knew it was ultimately Clarke’s decision and one she would have to let the girl make.

When all was said and done, and the two were safe once again in the thicket of trees, the only enemy remaining for today was her own incessant thoughts and insecurities. She’s not sure where the thought came from, or why it wouldn’t leave her as the two marched through the woods, but by the time Clarke noticed, Lexa had managed to convince herself of two things.

Firstly, Clarke may have moved on from her in the first timeline and taken another lover. And while she could not blame the girl for seeking comfort, Lexa couldn’t shake the idea that Bellamy may have been that lover.

The second thought, a result of the first and what implications it might have - if it were true - was the fact that she might be made a fool. If Clarke had truly moved on in the past, who’s to say she wouldn’t again? Perhaps the blonde was only seeking companionship, a body to keep her bed warm at night. And even though Clarke has told her, time and time again, that she loves Lexa as Lexa loves her, the deep seeded insecurities had taken root and refused to relinquish their hold.

But when Clarke, sweet, adoring, loving, ever-observant as she is, noticed something was off in her behavior, she took initiative. And when Lexa bared her heart and soul, stripping away the walls she’d built up to protect herself from weaknesses such as these, Clarke had handled her with care. The blonde’s words, so beautiful and perfectly spoken in Lexa’s native tongue, and the soft caresses and gentle kisses she gave just after were everything Lexa wasn’t aware she needed, until she did.

And as the two girls near the 5-mile marker, the designated blockade border, Lexa can’t help but think of what it might be like to have those words every day. To have someone by her side, through each trial and tribulation, through thick and thin, through the easy days and the hard ones. When Clarke had backed her up against a tree, the heavy oak bark leaving marks against her back, and kissed her senseless, Lexa couldn’t help but think of a sky-blue sash and a blue-silver pendant.

 

And so, Lexa makes her choice.

 

* * *

 

When Clarke and Lexa make it back to the blockade line the morning sun has already bathed the clearing in a golden light. Dozens of posted sentries, plus dozens more hidden selectively amongst the trees above, form along the invisible border. As they pass by a group of 5 or 6 warriors, each man and woman take the time to greet their _Heda_ with all the respect and admiration her position holds. Some bow their heads in reverence, others perform a sort of salute - crossing their arm across their chest, closed fist.

One younger _gona_ , his almost too large gear seeming to swallow him whole, moves forward to greet his Commander with a blinding grin. The sword on his hip jostles with each step, and his smile only grows larger as he grows nearer to the two leaders. A wide-eyed man behind him calls out after the boy, seemingly the _fos_ of the excited _seken_ , the grey in his short beard catching on the light of morning as he half-shouts with a rough voice.

_“Tomas, get back here immediately!”_

But Thomas never hears him in his excitement, and when the young second reaches Lexa, he extends his hand out in a traditional warrior greeting, the smile on his face never ceasing.

_“Mounin hou, Heda.”_

Lexa stares at the outstretched hand for a second, taking in the eagerness of the boy and his seeming lack of restraint. The boy clearly lacks discipline and an understanding of proper wartime and warrior etiquette, as well as proper behavior around one’s leaders. Turning her attention to the red-faced warrior that called after _Tomas_ , she visibly sees the terror and fury mixing in his facial expression; the crease between his brows and the downturn of his lips reflecting this.

When she looks back at _Tomas_ , Lexa can’t help but see a bit of herself in the young warrior-in-training, and perhaps, a little bit of Clarke as well. His youth and eagerness at meeting his _Heda_ and the small frame too little to fit the armor her wears fully reminds Lexa of herself at his age. His hazel eyes, a shade darker than the curls on his head, shine with carefree joy, a confirmation that this boy has never experienced the death and devastation of war - something she takes pride in considering 10 years ago, any child over 4 would have likely witnessed the harsh reality they lived in.

And in the boy’s determination and reluctance to back down or do as told, Lexa sees the blue eyes and blonde hair that walked into her tent months ago, prepared to engage in a battle of wills for the safety of her people and the boy she loved.

Maybe it’s because of this that Lexa reaches for the boy’s outstretched arm and grasps it in a firm shake.

_“Mochof, Tomas kom Trikru.”_

The complete jubilation that washes over the boy’s face is a sight to see and makes her heart swell slightly in a joyous warmth. Out of the corner of her eye, Lexa sees Clarke watching the interaction with a small smile of her own. The warmth in her chest grows just slightly more.

Shortly after their greeting ends, the boy’s first walks towards them with hurried steps. He places a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder, the other resting on the pommel of his sword. He begins to apologize, but Lexa is quick to wave him off.

_“Moba, Heda-”_

“There is no need for apologies,” Lexa directs her attention to the man beside Thomas. “In fact, I would like to make a request of you, _gona_.”

At the mention of a request, coming directly from the Commander herself, the warrior stands to attention. The seasoned warrior puffs his chest and straightens his spine, eyes never leaving Lexa’s gaze as he says, “Anything, _Heda_.”

Turning her gaze back to the _seken_ , Lexa slowly traces his figure from head-to-toe, studying the lanky boy, before looking back at the warrior.

“I would like for _Tomas_ to join my sentry for the remainder of the siege on Arkadia and the traitorous _Skaikru_.” The boy’s face lights up at the invitation, making Lexa smile in return.

“And after the final traitor is dealt with and the blockade is dissolved, I would like for _Tomas_ to travel back with me to Polis, as an official guardsman of _Heda_ and the _Natblida_. However, I will not take a young and still in-training _seken_ from his _fos_ without your consent. Are these terms acceptable?”

When Lexa finishes speaking, two very different gasps of breath come from the boy and his first. The boy’s expression can only be described as absolute giddiness. His small frame practically vibrates with the desire to jump around and shout with joy, but he shows an impressive amount of restraint as he stays rooted to his spot.

However, the boy’s _fos_ wears a different expression than that of the boy. At first, confusion and uncertainty seem to describe the older man’s furrowed brow. However, after a few moments of looking back and forth between his second and Commander, the warrior sighs but nods his head towards the boy.

_“If that is as you wish, Heda, then it shall be done.”_

_“Sha, moba.”_

Lexa finishes the conversation with a quick nod and a brief but kind handshake with the boy’s first as well. Then, the group of now-three are on their way to the central clearing, towards Lexa’s tent. As they grow closer to the temporary home of Lexa - and by extension, Clarke - familiar footsteps grow closer to hers, a flash of blonde to her right.

“That was very sweet, and very Un-Commander like of you, Lexa,” Clarke says jokingly in a hushed tone.

“I don’t know what you mean, Clarke. I simply saw the potential in Thomas; he will make a great _gona_ and guard.”

“Mhm,” Clarke hums lowly, completely unconvinced. “We both know that, deep down, you’re just a big softie.”

“A commander is not soft, Clarke,” Lexa faux-reprimands the teasing blonde.

Clarke doesn’t speak at first, remaining silent as the central clearing comes into view. The posted sentries, war-ready warriors, and training seconds are a welcome, and familiar, sight after a night spent in dark, cramped spaces within Arkadia. When they’re just steps from Lexa’s tent, the guards pulling the entrance aside to allow entrance for their Commander, Clarke speaks in a sultry whisper.

_“We’ll see about that.”_

 

* * *

Sweat glistening bodies collapse in a heap of panted breathing and muffled hums. The crisp autumn air envelops the room in a pleasant chill, pebbling the skin of two distinctive exposed backs. They lay there for a few minutes, soaking in the sounds of the lulling camps outside disturbing the otherwise blissful peace and quiet.

After she’s regained her breath, Clarke groans and flips over, her chest and stomach immediately pebbling under the cool air that greets her. Looking at the foot of the bed, she can’t see any additional furs to cover herself or Lexa with - assuming they must have fallen off the bed with all the _activities_.

Clarke looks to her left, noticing Lexa now lays on her side, facing away from her. This gives Clarke a perfect view of the girl’s back, and the dull red marks that scratch across the expanse her sun-kissed skin. Without thought, she reaches out to trace one of the deeper marks, feeling her finder hit something wet - blood.

“Lex, you’re bleeding,” Clarke says quietly, her voice heavy with guilt as she examines the ink-stained fingertip.

“Shhh,” Lexa’s response comes as a half-conscious hush, slowly drifting towards slumber.

“But, your back-” Clarke tries again.

“Shhhh.”

Clarke can’t help but smile at the sleeping girl, feeling privileged that she alone gets to see these few soft moments Lexa’s position allows her. After watching Lexa the first time; learning her mannerisms, the duties her role as Commander demands, and her day-to-day tasks, Clarke knows that almost anytime Lexa is outside the safety of her private quarters back in Polis - or her tent if she travels - the girl rarely gets to smile or enjoy time for herself. After years of being alone, of losing nearly everyone she loves, and putting aside her own wants and needs to focus on those of her people, Lexa seldom seeks out, or cares to satisfy her own needs.

But, when she is alone. When Clarke gets to see Lexa relax and unwind, when she watches the brunette strip herself of the armor and the warpaint, the girl underneath shows herself with soft smiles and nervous eyes. And when Clarke had charged into Lexa’s tent roughly an hour ago, followed quickly by Lexa, she got to be the one to strip the girl of those things. She stripped away the girl’s responsibilities, the doubts, the stress, all of it - if only for a brief moment.

And as she lay here, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of Lexa’s sleeping figure as the tired Commander rests. As she takes in the scratch marks going down and crossing with the beautiful artwork that stretches across Lexa’s back. As she hears the soft puff of air that leaves the girl’s nose with each exhale. As she gets to see Lexa, for what she actually is - _just a girl_. Clarke can’t help but feel proud - feel privileged - that she gets to bear witness to such a beautiful thing.

Clarke’s not sure how long she lays there watching Lexa sleep, probably longer than what would be deemed appropriate - _is there even a limit on how long one can watch the Commander sleep?_

Lexa’s breathing is soft and even, her sleep sound and serene. Clarke scoots closer to the girl, inching slowly to avoid waking the tired girl, enjoying the contrast of the cool air surrounding her and the warmth radiating from Lexa’s lithe body. Minutes, or maybe hours later, a gruff voice calls for Lexa’s attention from the entrance of the tent.

Lexa stirs, groaning in annoyance at having been awakened. The nude girl rolls onto her back and stretches like a cat awakening from a nap in the sun, her limbs and joints popping deliciously. The same guard calls again for Lexa’s attention, and the only response Lexa gives is a low and pitiful whine at the prospect of leaving the bed.

“Is that the Commander of the 13 clans that I hear whining like a child who’s lost his favorite toy?” Clarke voice snaps Lexa from her daze, the girl’s scattered braids whipping as her head turns in Clarke’s direction.

Clarke watches Lexa’s eyes go wide in embarrassment, realizing she’s been caught; a warm pink dusting her cheeks and neck. A second later, Lexa seems to remember just why Clarke is in this bed with her, still naked, as Lexa’s eyes trace down the nude frame of Clarke. When green meets blue again, the once bright emeralds are now a dark forest green, hooded with desire.

“Oh no, none of that. You’ve got more pressing matters to attend to _Heda_ ,” Clarke teases the girl as she traces light patterns on Lexa’s arm.

Lexa looks ready to protest, to say _‘forget their duties’_ and never let Clarke leave the bed. And it’s on the tip of her tongue when the persistent guard announces himself for the third time, a little louder this time than before.

Lexa’s answer comes as more of a growl, low and guttural, than the sound of any actual spoken tongue. But it’s loud enough for the guards posted outside her tent to hear, the sound of a scurrying man followed just seconds later.

Rolling her eyes at the moody Commander, Clarke moves from the bed, stretching as she stands with an arch of her back and twist of her neck. When she turns around, Lexa’s head snaps up from her waist to her head, eyes fully blown with unadulterated lust.

“See something you like, Commander?” Clarke’s voice is teasing, but also slow and sultry. The blonde cranes her head to the side, revealing a rather large bruise taking color on the juncture between her shoulder and neck.

“Five minutes,” Lexa pleads, her eyes taking in the nude form once more; tracing between Clarke’s face, curvy figure - spending a lengthy amount of time on her bare breasts - and back again.

Clarke smirks but shakes her head, walking away to gather the scattered clothes around the room. Accepting this, Lexa grumbles pitifully but also rolls from the bed, moving towards the pauldron and sash that lay in the corner of her room, tossed haphazardly in their rush to get to the bed.

 

* * *

 

After the discarded clothing and armor are recovered, hair tamed and re-braided, and a clean rag and wash pale used to wipe away the dirt and grime from one another’s face and arms, Lexa stands in front of her small vanity mirror that travels with her. The small square of glass, a large crack running through the center, leans against her small table. She watches her reflection as her fingers move skillfully, tracing the familiar pattern of kohl warpaint down her cheeks, three black tears left in their wake.

As she’s finishing the final preparations for the upcoming meeting, Lexa catches Clarke fiddling with her shirt behind her. Upon noticing Lexa’s attention, Clarke greets her with a warm smile, before looking back at the problem.

“You- well we both- ripped two of the top buttons off the collar of my shirt. This was my best shirt, really my only shirt that I have left besides the leathers you gifted me for riding and training.”

Lexa turns around, giving Clarke her full attention, gesturing to the trunk stuffed into the corner across the room.

“Look in there, most anything in there should fit… although some shirts might be tight in a few areas,” Lexa’s eyes dip to Clarke’s chest, her cleavage on display with the two buttons missing.

Clarke rolls her eyes fondly, moving across the room to dig through the trunk. Lexa hears Clarke moving things around in the trunk as she searches for something to wear. As she waits, Lexa continues touching up her attire, finishing her look by pushing the symbol of the Coalition between her brow - a bronze gear to compliment the tan skin it rests upon.

Another few seconds pass in relative silence, until Lexa hears an audible _thunk_ as something drops into the trunk. The sound causes her to freeze up, immediately realizing what it is, before her senses kick in and she whips around to stop Clarke before it’s too late-

“What’s this?” Clarke holds up the one thing Lexa hadn’t meant for Clarke to find - _at least not yet_. The blonde turns to look at Lexa over her shoulder, shaking the small item in her hands as she does.

And there, held gently in the blonde’s fingers, is a simple metal case. The small rectangle, no longer than the pommel of her sword and not nearly as deep, looks back at her, mockingly. The inscription on top of the polished metal, catching the dim morning light that filters through the tent canvas, shines brightly, taunting her with one simple word.

“Sad-mana?,” Clarke tries to pronounce the Trigdeslang word, clearly unfamiliar with its meaning or what it represents. “What does this say?”

Lexa hesitates, her gaze drifting nervously between the case and the blue stare that pins her to the spot she stands. Clarke watches her expectantly, patiently waiting for Lexa to answer. After a pause far too long to seem nonchalant, Lexa releases a heavy sigh as she walks across the room to crouch by the girl.

Lexa’s lithe fingers envelop Clarke’s own in a warm and comforting grip, easing the box from the blonde’s hand. “This,” Lexa begins to slide the lid from the box, “is a gift I had intended to give you once we had returned to Polis - if you returned to Polis with me, I did not want to assume you would return to the capital. I’m sure you are needed in Arkadia just as much-,” Lexa hastily adds, her nerves getting the better of her as the rambling continues to pour from her lips.

Clarke, up until this point, has watched her with a quizzical expression, but at Lexa’s rushed rambling, the blonde lets out a warm chuckle that warms Lexa’s heart and eases her nerves significantly. A soft, pale hand reaches out to squeeze Lexa’s knee, the calming effect better than anything medicine or any ale might offer.

“Breathe, Lex. It’s just me. Breathe.”

Lexa takes a deep breath, inwardly berating herself for behaving as a young _natblida_ might around a pretty girl.

_She_ _’s the Commander for Gods sake, she should not feel such anxiety and inner turmoil because a blonde bats their lashes in her direction… but then again, Clarke is no ordinary blonde._

Deciding it’s best just to spit the words out rather than let the moment dwindle on, Lexa fully removes the lid from the case, turning it in Clarke’s direction.

“ _Sadmana,_ the word inscribed on here is a term of endearment,” Lexa flashes the case in Clarke’s direction before setting it aside. Then, Lexa’s fingers wrap around a simple silver chain, pulling it from the case with slow and practiced movement.

Lexa keeps her gaze steady with Clarke’s, willing her face to remain calm and unperturbed. Inwardly, she’s panicking. Her mind can’t focus on anything but the inscription on the box, hoping, _praying_ , Clarke won’t ask again for the definition of the word - a conversation best had once things are slightly calmer and emotions are not as high.

Clarke’s enraptured blue eyes follow Lexa’s movements, her eyes traveling down the chain until, finally, the pendant at the end catches her eye. The blonde’s immediate response is something akin to a gasp. Lexa watches as blue eyes go wide, and Clarke’s breathing physically stops for a few long seconds.

“Lexa, it’s beautiful,” Clarke’s voice is so full of emotion and awe. Her sky-blue eyes shine with an excitement and amazement as she takes in the gift Lexa presents her with. “It looks almost exactly like the one you wear.”

Lexa nods, appraising the symbol herself. The blue-silver pendant, an exact replica in size and shape of the gear that Lexa wears everyday as a headpiece. The symbol of the Coalition rests at the end of a simple chain, the light blue highlights that trace the silver gear catches the light, causing a ethereal blue-grey aura to surround the pendant.

After allowing Clarke a few more seconds to gawk at the beautiful piece of jewelry, Lexa presents it to the blonde, gesturing for her to turn around so she can snap the necklace into place. Clarke turns around, still at a loss for words, allowing Lexa to do so.

“I don’t understand though, what is this for?” Clarke says quietly, her fingers playing with the pendant that now rests against her chest.

“As I said, it is a gift, one I meant to give you back in Polis, but you seemed to have ruined the surprise,” Lexa says jokingly, faux-admonishing the blonde whose eyes haven’t left the piece between her fingers.

_At least she likes it._

Clarke looks like she doesn’t quite believe her, more questions on the tip of her tongue, but before she can ask them, Ryder speaks from outside the tent.

_“Heda, the Sankru and Yujleda kru delegations have arrived.”_

Lexa stands quickly, rushing back across the room to finish dressing and preparations.

“I have a few matters I must attend to before the war planning can commence later tonight,” Lexa catches Clarke’s gaze in the small mirror she uses to check her warpaint one last night. “They should only last an hour, two at the most.” As she begins to walk toward the exit, pulling her pauldron into its familiar place, she turns to Clarke once more.

“Perhaps you should go see your mother and your friends. I’m sure Abby would love an update to calm the nerves of the _Skaikru_.”

And with that, Lexa sweeps from the room, her coat and pauldron flowing behind her in her quickened pace.

 

* * *

 

When Clarke arrives at the temporary Skaikru encampment, a clearing fitted with more than 100 tents and numerous campfires, the site is filled with nervous energy. Families of parents and children huddle around crackling fires, eating the rations provided for them by their Trikru hosts and conversing tersely with those around them.

Clarke watches from the tree line as mothers and fathers cast sidelong glances filled with unease towards the nearby Trikru warriors scattered around the camp. A few of her people, some of which she has known since her childhood, look at the people who rescued them with nothing short of disgust and disdain. Lexa’s people, and herself, had risked their lives to save over 150 Skaikru from Pike’s tyranny and the danger they face in Arkadia, and many of her people wear a scowl so heavy Clarke considers sending them back to the hellhole they left behind.

_Ungrateful brats._

A little bit away, Clarke finally spots a familiar, _friendly_ , face. A face she hasn’t seen in months, and the last time she had was only moments before sending them into space for the next five years.

_Raven._

The brunette seems to have made herself at home. The girl sits on a tree stump facing towards a nearby campfire. The mechanic’s leg brace lays on the ground beside her, the damaged limb relaxing on a small log at her feet. Raven appears at ease; her movements calm and friendly; the small smile she wears as she chats with the dark-haired boy beside her, Monty, a pleasant sight to see amongst all the distrust and tense behavior found throughout the camp.

Also sitting around the small fire, Clarke spots a few other familiar faces. As Monty continues to chat with Raven to his left, Clarke notices a girl holding his hand to the right of the boy, Harper. Octavia and Lincoln also sit at the fire, Indra’s second seemingly unwilling to let Lincoln leave her sight since his release.

Clarke also notices a friend- or someone who was once a friend- leaning against a nearby tree with a canteen in his hand. The boy’s features are rough, and his expression is one of constant anger and grief. The shaggy-haired, fun-loving, goggle-wearing boy she can still remember is gone. In his stead, remains a shell of a man, comprised halfway of liquor, and the other half an unwavering hatred for life itself.

_Jasper_.

Despite his unrelenting hatred for her, both now and in the first timeline, Clarke can’t help but miss the friend she once knew. She can’t help but blame herself, if only slightly, for hurting Jasper so much that his only solution was the release of death - something else she intends to prevent this time around.

Making her way through the throngs of both Skaikru and Trikru, Clarke slowly but surely gets closer to her friends. Monty spots her first, the movement out of the corner of his eye causing him to glance over and lock eyes with her. He recognizes her immediately, his face lighting up with his signature thousand-watt smile.

“Clarke!” Monty half-shouts, already running towards Clarke as she works her way through the crowd. Clarke gets just a few seconds of warning before she feels herself being lifted from the ground, a small but steady frame wrapped around her in a crushing embrace. Carefully, Monty lowers her back to the ground, stepping away only inches to get a good look at Clarke’s face.

“Hey, Monty-,” Clarke chokes out with a little wave. The blonde’s eyes cloud with tears, the boy in front of her blurring into an outline of a small frame and friendly face. That’s all she gets to say before Monty pulls her into another bone-crushing hug, supporting a majority of Clarke’s weight as she melts into her friend.

“Oh, I see how it is. No love for Mama around here, huh?” Clarke hears a voice she’d recognize anywhere.

Clarke pulls away from Monty, giving him a thankful squeeze to the shoulder before looking in the voice’s direction. Raven stands, brace now securely in place, with her hands resting on her hip and her familiar cocky grin firmly in place.

“Hey Rae,” Clarke gives her a small smile, a little unsure if this Raven will hate her still for everything that happened with Finn and the mountain. That question is answered moments later when Raven opens her arms with an inviting gesture, waving Clarke over.

“Get over here and give me a hug blondie. Don’t make the cripple walk.”

At her familiar sass and tone, Clarke can’t help but the shake of her head or the roll of her eyes. Nonetheless, Clarke obliges her, moving forward to envelop the mechanic in a warm and firm hug. The familiar scent of motor oil and grease envelops her as the mechanic’s arms wrap around her.

“Don’t you ever go running off like that again, okay? You had us all worried sick.” Raven’s voice is barely a whisper, and if Clarke wasn’t mistaken - a bit emotional.

“Okay,” Clarke murmurs back, her own voice thick with emotion.

Over the next few minutes, other heartwarming reunions take place there in the middle of the clearing, a few onlookers watching with interest as one by one, everyone around the fire welcomes Clarke with a hug and smile- except for Jasper who watches on with nothing short of unadulterated hatred.

Another moment later, Clarke joins her friends around the campfire, happy to be among the pleasant conversation as it flows around the circle. Clarke learns about things she’d missed back in Arkadia while she was away. Monty happily explains how the green house has started to really come together and produce. Raven enraptures the group as she tells of her various creations and explosion-inducing experiments she conducts in the workshop she commandeered. Harper goes further in-depth about the methods of hunting the Skaikru have taken up and asking Clarke for advice on where they might improve.

As conversations about the past few months, questions about the unsteady future, and a general sense of togetherness that she hasn’t truly felt since the 100 first landed on the ground flows around the group, Clarke can’t help but feel content in this moment - even if she’s heard all these same conversations before.

Time passes fast and easy as Clarke reconnects with so many of her friends, so fast in fact that when Thomas comes to summon Clarke for the war planning set to begin in just a few moments, she finds herself not quite ready to leave. Apparently, Raven must have the same thought, her sassy voice ringing through the lull in the conversation.

“Who’s the pipsqueak?” Raven gestures to Thomas who now stands a few feet away, waiting to accompany Clarke to the meeting.

Clarke rolls her eyes, dusting her knees off as she stands upright. “His name,” Clarke gestures over her shoulder towards the impatiently waiting second-turned-guard, “is _Tomas_. And he is the newest member of Heda’s Guard.”

Across the campfire, Octavia scoffs condescendingly. “Heda’s Guard? He’s just a kid.”

Feeling strangely protective of the boy, Clarke narrows her eyes at the brunette, a rebuttal on the tip of her tongue - but Thomas beats her to it.

“Actually, I am one of _Wanheda_ _’s_ personal guard.” Thomas’s English is imperfect and rough, but he manages to get the words out clear enough.

“You’re my what?”

“You’re her what?”

A half-dozen voices ring out across the small group, all asking the same question, Clarke herself wearing a confused expression to match everyone else’s.

“Heda has decided I will act as a guard for you both, switching between at her discretion,” Thomas explains to Clarke and the others, seemingly trying to rush Clarke along so he won’t be late on his first day in Heda’s ranks.

“But, you’re just a kid. How could one kid protect Clarke if someone attacked her?”

Thomas’s eyes harden, affronted at the suggestion that he would let anything happen to Heda or Wanheda. The boy’s gaze quickly lands on the girl that made the comment, Raven.

“I assure you, Wanheda is well protected and watched over,” Thomas snaps. And then in a much calmer voice, he says, “Besides, I am not Wanheda’s only guard. Ryder kom Trikru and Jonah kom Podakru are also watching from a discreet distance.”

Hearing this, Clarke inwardly sighs. Of course, Lexa had assigned her guards - _multiple guards at that_ \- to watch over her whenever she could not. It’s a discussion they’d had before, and one they’d disagreed on.

In the past, a part of Clarke would have been infuriated at such an act; the thought of having a guard detail would have made her feel more prisoner than equal to Lexa. However, she’s older now - wiser too. And after spending more time with Lexa, and after spending months trying to get over her - both in the forest and by herself after _Praimfaya_ \- Clarke can’t help but find the gesture endearing.

This train of thought brings Clarke back to the moment the two leaders shared just over an hour ago in Lexa’s tent. The brunette had been acting strange, different from her normal warm and open nature when the two are in private. The girl had seemed nervous, nearly panicked, which was something she’d never seen from the girl and something Clarke never wanted to see again - especially if she was the cause of Lexa’s worries.

But, when she’d seen that necklace. When the light had caught on the silver pendant and highlighted the light blue highlights that were crafted into the metal, Clarke had been breathless. The gear, so similar to the one Lexa wears between her brows, was obviously custom made, just for her.

Lost in her thoughts, Clarke reaches to touch the necklace, the pendant tucked safely under her coat. After slipping the top two buttons from their holes, the blue-silver pendant comes into view, still as breathtaking as it was an hour ago.

Literally, it would seem, as an audible gasp falls from someone beside her.

Clarke looks to her right, searching for the source of such a noise amongst her friends. What she finds, is even stranger, when Lincoln stares back at her - or rather _her chest_ \- with his eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Lincoln?” Octavia asks concernedly, shaking the large man by his shoulder.

Instead of responding, Lincoln immediately drops to one knee, bowing his head as one might pray to a deity, and murmuring to himself.

Nothing happens at first, everyone around the campfire looking between one another as Octavia watches Lincoln’s kneeling figure warily. But then, another gasp - this time, to Clarke’s left.

Thomas’s dark eyes are wide in amazement, the excited young man looking back and forth between the pendant and Clarke’s perplexed face, before finally dropping to his knee and murmuring in the same tone as Lincoln.

A moment later, the scattered Trikru warriors around Clarke look over at the spectacle, only to drop to their knee immediately upon looking at Clarke herself. This continues until all the nearby warriors are all on their knees, heads bowed and softly chanting the same few words - words Clarke can now begin to make out as more and more warriors begin to recite them.

_“Wanheda kom Sanheda.”_

_“Wanheda kom Sanheda.”_

_“Wanheda kom Sanheda.”_

The chants continue for minutes, slowly increasing in volume and numbers as other nearby warriors come over to investigate.

“Okay, can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Raven nearly shouts over the rising volume, her gaze uneasily shifting between the now dozens of grounders surrounding them.

 

* * *

 

Clarke storms down the pathway, her coat tails flapping behind her violently as she carves through the distance between herself and her destination. When the tent comes into sight, two guards standing just outside the entrance ever-alert to any hostile presence, Clarke pays them no mind. Lifting her pendant from her chest for both sentries to see before she reaches them, Clarke continues her almost-jog towards her goal.

By the time she reaches the entrance, both guards have taken a knee, a soft chant of reverence coming from them. Clarke pays them no mind however, already experiencing this with nearly a hundred others. The blonde tears into the tent, the room of political discourse and wartime strategy quickly coming to a halt at her rude interruption.

Clarke catches familiar green eyes at the head of the table, noticing them begin to widen in fear and understanding.

 

“YOU PROPOSED TO ME?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! 9k words later!
> 
> So, thanks if you read that big mess of a chapter! Well, I hope it wasn't a mess... but I sorta feel like it was? Idk. ANYWHO, your thoughts? Did anyone actually predict the twist ending there based on my poor attempts at foreshadowing in earlier chapters? Or did I not do enough of a job at that? Idk. Also, thoughts on Lexa's insecurities coming to the forefront? I know some people might be upset or confused or think its sort of OOC for Lexa to express those things, but I like to think that Lexa has a ton of layers that never/was minimally explored in the show. Plus, the girl cried when Clarke kissed her... I'm pretty sure it's safe to assume she's a big softie for Clarke.
> 
> I guess my only other major concern was that you guys would think I kind of winged this chapter? Or that it was a 'spur of the moment' decision to have Lexa give Clarke the necklace. And in a way, it was 'spur of the moment' but not by me obv, by Lexa :) I intentionally left the meaning behind the necklace a bit ambiguous... it's something that will be a huge part in the next section of the story. The same goes for their standoff w/ Bellamy. I didn't just forget to write the ending there... all part of the plan my friends ;)
> 
> Idk what else to say... so I'll leave you with this. This chapter marks a sort of 'end' to the first part of this story. The way I originally drafted it a few months back when I decided to go the distance, was to split it into 4 sections and I roughly outlined those sections. WELL the standoff w Bellameme and Lexa's 'proposal?' marked the end of this section months ago, and I'm really happy that I've been able to stay on track with what I've written in that regard. That being said, I only ever fully outlined and planned the first section, the other three... were a bit rougher and lack in substance. SO, expect the next update to be a bit prolonged? maybe? I'm going to try and really write and draft the entirety of section 2 of the story, then I should be back on my regular posting schedule :)
> 
> Sorry for the incoherent rambling, like I said, nervous. Feel free to hit me up on Tumblr (CharacterStructure) to yell at me for the cliffhanger or if you want to talk about the story, life, or anything really? ALSO I may create a playlist of the music I listen to when I write, and I could share it here... if anyone is interested? Just let me know! :) Have a good one guys!


	10. It's Like We're Living in Fantasy Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fast forward about two weeks later. 
> 
> Preparations are being made. Praimfaya is approaching. Conversations are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm posting this from my phone so it may be a bit wonky. I'm at work currently so Ill fix any format issues when I get home.
> 
> Alright I'm home now and can write out my full notes.
> 
> So, here is chapter 10! (The beginning of the 2nd section of this story) It's quite a bit of setup, to give you all an idea of what troubles our girls will face in the near future. I don't want to spoil TOO much but what I will say is this: the first section of the story (ch 1-9) was, in a way, "Clarke's Story". This section of the story will be more Lexa-centric. :)
> 
> Also, I'm so terribly sorry for the long wait. I haven't felt like writing a ton as of late (writer's block and other things I needed to focus on) so... hence the near month wait. I'll TRY to make the next release within 2-3 weeks... but who knows when it comes to me tbh haha. So, for any of you who stick with me despite the awful update schedule, thank you so much! It means SOOOO much to me <3 
> 
> P.S. THANKS FOR 800 KUDOS. WOW. I can't believe it.

“And if the need should arise, disputes between two or more clans can be delayed and put aside for up to 3 days. This break will allow you to gather information through scouts, or whatever means you decide necessary, as well as the chance to seek outside council.”

Clarke groans inwardly as Edra’s raspy voice continues to ramble on and on. The wiry older woman, apparently Lexa’s head of the tower, hadn’t stopped talking since she swept her away from her bed at (if you asked Clarke) far too early in the morning. Clarke continues to zone out from Edra’s teachings, her eyes sweeping around the throne room, taking in the same four walls she’d been staring at for well over 6 hours.

The room’s high ceiling, overhead balcony, and grand windows behind the throne are a beautiful and spectacular sight for someone who rarely visits. The dozens of candles hanging from custom chandeliers and the view that spans the entirety of Polis, as well as the great valleys beyond, make this room one of the grandest in all the city.

However, Clarke can’t help her growing distaste for the room and all its intricacies.

After being awakened every morning, for the past 5 days, well before the sun rises, Clarke can’t be blamed for her foul mood. Especially after each one of those ‘wake up calls’ included the warm furs being ripped from her body, allowing the cool air of the room to assault her now uncovered body. A shivering Clarke would crack open her eyes, hardly seeing anything in the lowlight of the low-burning candles and what few rays of moonlight that streamed through her balcony window. But, even if Clarke could not see the intruder and cover thief, she knew who it was, without a doubt.

Edra would make her dress quickly, rushing around the room to fetch her clothes and a brush to tame her wild mess of blonde tangles. After her scalp felt like it was on fire with how rough and fast the short woman would sort out her hair, Clarke was unceremoniously shoved out the door, ready to begin her training.

From there, Edra would lead her on the same tour of the tower that she began each day with, stopping on every single level and quizzing Clarke on the importance or use of each story. Clarke learned quickly that each kind of worker, depending on their role, had a certain section of the tower marked off.

The lower levels were set aside for the kitchens and dining areas, as well as two more floors for housing the few dozen cooks and servers that resided within the tower. Above them, were the servants quarters; their rooms filled with an assortment of handmaidens performing various tasks, such as washing clothes or general house-keeping. Further up the tower, 5 stories were marked off to house over one hundred Tower guards, a separate 6th story set aside for Lexa’s personal guards - Clarke knowing this already as she’d visited the floor quite frequently to see how one of Lexa’s newest guards, Thomas, was settling in.

And at the top of the tower, the final four stories, were designated as the home for diplomacy within the city of Polis. Starting from the top, Heda’s chambers and the Throne room, as well as a few other designated smaller court-style rooms and chambers, take up most of the floor. On the floor below, the Natblidas and Flamekeeper reside, an entire floor set aside for housing children and the spiritual leader entrusted with protecting them. The two floors below that are the housing for the Natblida’s medical staff and their facility and boarding for any other visiting ambassadors.

After finishing the near hour long tour each morning, Clarke would be whisked away to the throne room where Edra spent the next 6 to 8 hours, allowing for a small lunch break around noon, teaching and training Clarke for the various roles and positions a Heda must play in Polis, as well as throughout the Coalition. She was expected to learn the inner-workings of the political and diplomatic structure that the grounders had based their civilization upon.

And it was a tedious process.

Hours upon hours of learning the cultures of each clan, the roles of military and appointed officials in the Coalition, the value of the Flame and its importance to Grounder culture, and so many other arduous, yet essential, parts of the world she now lived in.

This had been going on for almost a week, today marking the 6th day.

And it’s not as if Clarke doesn’t find it all fascinating. A part of her that used to love to read any book she could find back on the Ark marvels at the rows and rows of historical writings the Grounders have created to record their own history. But, with so many other pressing matters that preoccupy her mind, whether it be killer artificial intelligence or a looming radiation-soaked death wave that creeps closer and closer with each day, it’s hard to truly focus and retain all the information being thrown at her.

Clarke is snapped from her thoughts when a sharp sting hits her hand, her jerk reaction coming as a loud yelp before she can stop herself.

“Ow! What was that, Edra?” Clarke glares at the grouchy older woman, trying to soothe the burn in her hand by rubbing at it.

“You were not paying attention… again.” Edra shows no remorse, simply going back to the large book that she holds as she continues to recite passages of what Clarke believes to be a retelling of how _Podakru_ came to exist and why they still share a border dispute with _Boudalan Kru._

Clarke groans again, this time audibly, earning another sharp glare from Edra. Rolling her eyes, Clarke settles back further into her chair, trying to focus back in on Edra’s teachings.

* * *

 

Lexa enters her chambers with a groan of relief, the pauldron that sits on her shoulder already sliding off as she begins to strip away the outfit of the Commander and decompress after spending hours locked away in a room with the city council.

Today’s meeting had been, more-or-less, the same as days previous; hours of reading, approving, and officially signing the updates and revisions to Polis Law. Progress had been made, slowly and methodically, as a handful of city counselors, and Lexa, reviewed each and every written law for the grand city, and added a single line to each document.

At the end of each written law, the name of the standing sovereign was listed at the bottom; an agreement between the people who fell under the law and the leader of said people. And right below the neat and formal signature of her own name, Lexa added a few short words, effectively changing the structure of her monarchy for years to come.

_Heda Leksa kom Trikru._

_Heda Klark kom Skaikru._

While the job itself was simple, the process was tedious. Where one law ended, five more followed after. A seemingly never-ending stack of laws and amendments that had slowly but surely dwindled over the past few days. But finally, on the 6th day of straining her eyes to read by the dim candlelight and dealing with the constant throbbing that had taken root in her hand, they had finished. When the final document was signed, a collective breath of relief was cast around the room. A half-dozen people who’d gotten far too many paper cuts and not nearly enough sun in the past few days, finally able to relax as the job was done.

Clarke was, according to Polis law, Heda; another Commander. Now all that was left was a formal ceremony.

 

* * *

 

Moments later, Lexa finds herself entering the antechamber across the room, an alluring glow of candlelight and welcoming steam practically springing from the warm bath that awaits her. Quickly stripping out of the rest of her clothes, Lexa wades into the warmth, allowing the heavenly water to ease away the aches and pains of the past few days.

The water is scented of lilac and jasmine, a few petals scattered across the water to help with relaxation. Sinking down further into the tub, only her head remaining above the water, Lexa feels herself begin to relax and can’t help but close her eyes in the moment of bliss.

As she lays there, soaking in the warm water and resting her eyes, her mind wanders. Thoughts of the future, and what it might hold, creep through her head. And while so many things remain uncertain, looming threats of killer technology and another _Praimfaya_ still at the forefront of her mind, one thing has become a certainty. Clarke, and her place by Lexa’s side.

Lexa rarely pictured a future for herself, never allowing herself the luxury of dreaming when her focus was to be on that of her people, without regard for her personal wants or needs. But with Clarke, she finds herself wanting - _aching_ \- for just a chance at a future with the girl she loves.

It’s something she’d been thinking about for a while - gifting Clarke with the necklace. The tin casing it rested in had stayed hidden in her room for over three months.

When she’d first heard the whispers of _Wanheda_ in the forest, and the bounty on her head by Nia, she’d needed a plan. Titus had been adamant, capturing and killing Clarke was the only way to restore order and ensure she stay in power - she needed the power of _Wanheda_ to ensure her reign. And while Lexa had never even considered that possibility, a part of her feeling physically ill at even the suggestion, an idea was struck into her head.

A union, for political position and power - even if Lexa wanted it to be so much more.

She had the necklace made, secretly and behind Titus’s back, to have it prepared for the announcement of Heda’s union - if Clarke was actually open to such a thing.

She waited days, weeks, over two months, for Clarke to be found. Her best trackers and warriors always returned empty-handed, seemingly one or two steps behind the sky girl as she trekked through the forest, covering her tracks as she went. And each night as Lexa lay in her bed, her hand would clutch the necklace and her voice would whisper a prayer to the gods for Clarke’s return - if only so she could see the girl with her own eyes and know she was safe and alive.

A hidden vestige of herself held onto the hope that Clarke might return her feelings, might want anything to do with her after her betrayal at the mountain. She expected not, knowing Clarke would likely hate her for leaving her on the mountainside and betraying her people. Lexa couldn’t regret making her decision, the safety of her people overcoming whatever loyalty was owed to the Skaikru - or whatever feelings she might have for a certain blonde sky girl. And she would not apologize for saving her people, the very same people she swore her life to protect and serve.

But, when she saw Clarke for that first time, a feral blonde writhing and screaming through her gag, Lexa couldn’t help but feel guilty. The sight of her beautiful sky girl dressed in obviously borrowed clothing, covered in filth and blood, and acting almost animal-like in her actions, made her heart ache. And while she knew her choice at the mountain was the right one, she’d make it again, Lexa realized in that moment, Clarke would never return her affection.

 

Or so she thought…

 

It was only a little over a week later that everything changed.

A week later, Clarke would faint in her arms with mumbled questions of _‘how’_ and _‘why’_.

A week later, Clarke would wake in her bed, staring at Lexa as if she were watching a ghost.

A week later, Clarke would tell her she loved her for the first time.

A week later, Clarke would tremble in her arms as she kissed the girl with everything she had.

And now, almost a month later, Clarke is to be her _houmon_ \- or as Clarke had called it, _her wife_.

 

* * *

 

 

Lexa’s not sure how long she lay in the tub, having been lulled into a peaceful slumber by the warmth of the water and her exhaustion from the past few days. When she wakes, Lexa immediately becomes aware of someone else in the room, her keen senses detecting the soft sound of breathing coming from across the room.

Opening her eyes and peering across the dimly lit room, squinting to see the figure in the low candlelight, her green orbs connect with a familiar blue. Lexa watches as Clarke takes her in, hungry blue eyes tracing her nude figure in the water, smirking at the intent written all over the blonde’s face.

_“See something you like, Klark?”_

Lexa speaks the words in her native tongue, rolling the R in Clarke’s name that she knows the girl secretly loves.

Clarke groans. “You can’t do that! That’s not fair!”

“I can’t do what, Clarke?” Lexa asks with a innocent look on her face. “It was just a question.”

Clarke humphs, crossing her arms as she does.

“You know I like what I see.”

“Well then, are you going to stand in the door all night, or are you going to join me, _Heda_?” Lexa’s voice is sultry and soft. The brunette pins Clarke with a hungry stare, her green eyes darkening immensely.

Clarke is already reaching for her shirt by the time Lexa finishes the question.

 

* * *

 

 

A hauntingly beautiful tune of a howling wind sounds in the sleeping city down below.  Torch lights flicker in the freezing winds and rain, fighting for survival against the torrent that pours down on them. Posted sentries shiver in their boots, one hand clutched to their weapon of choice, the other closed around a steaming mug of tea, trying to stay warm in the frigid temperatures.

The cold winds of late-autumn storms crash against the closed balcony doors. The cloudy night sky is dark, only illuminated slightly by the flashing lightning that scatters across the horizon miles away. Two girls seek refuge from the harsh chill that comes with the storm, bundled together in their shared bed, layered with thick, rich furs. 

Clarke turns more on her side, facing Lexa fully. The brunette’s eyes are closed, and her breathing is even, but Clarke knows Lexa is still awake. Clarke admires Lexa’s features, both the ones she can see, and the ones hidden underneath the furs. Her eyes trace Lexa’s sharp jawline, high cheekbones, flowing hair, and the top of her collarbone that just sticks out from the blankets, admiring the assortment of bruises she can see peeking out.

Clarke falls into a sort of trance, watching the rise and fall of the brunette’s chest through the thick blankets that cover it, the rhythmic pattern giving the blonde her own sense of calm and serenity.

As she listens to the sound of Lexa’s steady breathing, a proof of life, of health, Clarke can’t help the sleepy smile that crosses her face. She smiles because Lexa is alive, the girl she loves is breathing, living, there by her side. And all that she went through, all the pain, death, grief, sorrow, everything she experienced before that fateful night in the ruins of Polis, was worth it, because she saved Lexa, and she refuses to give her up a second time.

Here they are, two leaders, two girls, trying to do their best for their people and themselves. They face countless enemies Clarke knows of, and probably even more that remain faceless. They’ve overcome the first few hurdles, Titus and Pike both dealt with, but there are still so many more. And yet, Clarke knows deep within her, that together, there’s nothing the two leaders can’t face.

Even as the looming threat of ALIE and Jaha, or the death wave that creeps nearer with each passing day, closes in around them, Clarke can’t help but feel brave in the face of the danger, and safe in bed with a certain brunette commander.

A brunette commander, who breathes a heavy sigh, cracking open an eye to peer at her from under long lashes.

“You think far too loudly,” Lexa says with a bemused smile on her lips, closing her eyes once again.

“Sorry, love,” Clarke rolls her eyes fondly, leaning forward to peck Lexa on her lips.

Clarke lays down beside the girl after that, pressing herself into the side of Lexa’s sinewy frame, one hand splayed gently across Lexa’s abdomen. The calming sounds of Lexa’s slow breathing, and the hint of lilac that clings to Lexa’s skin, begin to lull her into her own sleep. It’s not until a thought from earlier that day creeps back into her mind, a question she’d meant to ask Lexa - before they got _preoccupied_.

“Hey, Lex,” Clarke gently shoves the girl’s shoulder, grinning brightly at the furrowed brow Lexa now wears.

“ _Hmmmph-_ ”

“I had a question-” Clarke’ voice fades away, unsure. There’s a few seconds pause, and then she finishes. “About the necklace.”

At the mention of the necklace, Lexa’s eyes open finally, a sleepy and content look upon her face

“What question?” She murmurs half-heartedly, anxious to fall back asleep.

“It- well I…” Clarke pauses, seemingly unsure. “Why did you want to wait? To give me the necklace? You said you originally meant to give me the necklace once we were back in Polis for a while. Why did you want to wait?”

As Clarke rambles her thoughts along, Lexa becomes increasingly wide awake, a nervous tick in her eye. Seeing this, Clarke begins to think the girl might think she was haven’t second thoughts.

“It’s not that I don’t want the necklace, I do! I just- You seemed uncertain… and it’s really been bothering me.” Clarke frowns at her own word choice, annoyed and embarrassed at her rambling.

Lexa watches her with a strange uncertainty in her eyes, grinding her jaw back in forth in contemplation. The silence stretches on for far longer than Clarke is comfortable with, her nerves beginning to get the better of her. The blonde worries her upper lip, sure she’s made Lexa rethink her proposal.

 

* * *

 

“…once we were back in Polis for a while. Why did you want to wait?”

_Skrish._

Lexa curses herself, knowing she can’t escape this conversation any longer. And then she curses herself again, for being afraid of having the necessary discussion.

 _A Commander should never show fear, a true sign of weakness that Heda must never feel._ Titus’s teachings of proper Commander behavior rings in her ears, a long-ingrained voice that she can’t shake after 17+ years of teachings.

“… it’s really been bothering me.”

Lexa catches the tail-end of Clarke’s ramble, noticing the blonde’s expectant, yet hesitant, expression, waiting for her answer.

The Commander chooses her words carefully, trying to decide just how she should respond. After long moments of debating back-and-forth in her own head, the brunette releases a heavy sigh, figuring the whole truth is the best way to move forward.

“The necklace was originally created for my plan of a political union. I had planned to give you the necklace, in Polis, when you came out of hiding from the woods. It was my belief that a union between the two of us would help solidify your people among my own, effectively ending the feud between our two people.” Lexa speaks clearly and with purpose, holding Clarke’s nervous stare the entire time.

“I had also hoped that with our union, your…” Lexa pauses, knowing this topic will reopen old wounds. “If I were to join with _Wanheda_ , it would also help to solidify my power and rule as _Heda_. So, I saw it as a means of helping us both.”

Lexa stops again, allowing the blonde time to process what she’s saying. Clarke, as far as Lexa can tell, does not seem upset by her words or the reminder of her role as _Wanheda_. The blonde just seems intrigued and focuses on her every word, no longer worrying her lip with concern.

“Of course, when you first arrived in Polis, I knew you would never accept those terms. You hated me and made sure that every floor beneath us could hear you say as much.”

Lexa reaches a hand to touch her cheek, reminiscing of Clarke’s hate-fueled spit that spattered her face well over a month ago. Noticing this, Clarke’s cheeks fill with heat, embarrassment coloring her chest and face. Lexa’s hands drop away, an easy chuckle on her lips.

“So, I kept the necklace hidden. I had thought you would never agree to work with me. And I certainly thought you would never return my affection for you. When you agreed to kneel to me, it was as close to the original idea as I could manage, and it would have to be enough.”

Lexa stops again, seeing Clarke begin to nod along.

“But when I traveled back in time and told you I _did_ return your love, you thought about proposing again,” Clarke finishes Lexa’s thought for her, the Commander nodding along.

The blonde furrows her brow, mulling over Lexa’s words for a long moment before speaking again.

“Wait- that still doesn’t explain why you wanted to over a month later to actually give me the necklace,” Clarke voices her confusion, tilting her head in an adorable manner that Lexa can’t help but smile at.

"The reason I did not give you the necklace right away, was out of necessity. When I realized you love me as I love you, I knew I would one day make you mine. The problem was no longer of political concern, but rather for concern for my people. If I were to make you my _houmon_ , my wife as you would say, your people would become mine, and mine yours.

“I thought the Skaikru were already your people, seeing as we are part of the Coalition now,” Clarke asks quizzically.

“Yes, they are. However, my people were not yours. As my wife, you would also become _Sanheda_ , second in power only to me. And as a Commander, you must act fairly to all your people, no matter their relation to you.”

Lexa pauses once again, watching as understanding flashes across the blonde’s face.

“You needed to make sure I could act as _Sanheda_? Not only for the betterment of my people, but for all 13 clans? You wanted to be sure of my impartiality?”

Lexa only nods, allowing the blonde to work her way through the rest of the story herself.

There’s a few moments of silence, and then, Clarke’s eyes widen, and a tiny exhale of breath comes from her, a realization occurring right before Lexa’s eyes.

“That’s why you let me lead the attack on Pike, and why you let me plan the invasion. It’s also why you let me speak to the council. You wanted to see if I would handle the situation fairly.”

Lexa nods again, a small smile forming on her lips.

“I also had to be sure that my people knew you were leading the charge against the traitorous Skaikru,” Lexa continues Clarke’s thoughts. “It was important that my people knew you, as a representative of the clans, to be impartial and loyal to the Coalition. They already respected you as _Wanheda_. However, your role as my adviser over the past weeks, as well as your role in destroying Pike and Arkadia, made my people respect you as a leader.”

Lexa finishes her explanation, her nervous grind of her jaw showing again slightly. Another long pause takes place, Lexa waiting patiently while Clarke reflects on what she’s just learned.

Finally, Clarke seems to make up her mind, the blonde refocusing on the brunette laying down beside her. The girl smiles timidly at the brunette, nodding her thanks and understanding before leaning down to snuggle into Lexa.

At Clarke’s reassurance, the tension in Lexa’s body melts away. A part of her was sure the blonde would be mad at her, or at the very least upset with her hidden intent. She expected the blonde’s quick temper might show before her level-headed steadiness. But rather, Clarke snuggles closer into her side, placing soft kisses to Lexa’s neck as she tucks her face further into the brunette.

After a few kisses, Lexa lets out a shuddering sigh of relief, knowing she made the right choice - knowing the girl in her arms, will soon be her wife.

 

* * *

 

 

The next week passes by in a rush. 

Lexa’s days are filled with diplomatic hearings, settling quarrels between various clans and clan leaders, and preparations for Clarke’s official announcement as Polis’s newest leader. The Commander’s time is stretched thin, the brunette often out of bed before the sun rises, and back to the same bed some hours later, long after the last rays of sunlight had disappeared over the horizon.

The preparation and planning needed for Clarke’s initiation as _Sanheda_ , and as Lexa’s wife, has left the brunette with little time to do much besides work long, tiresome hours. The Commander spends her days answering the constant barrage of questions from clan representatives and leaders alike, each one seemingly concerned, angry, or some combination of the two, at the news of Clarke’s impending ascension to the throne. With what little time she has left, Lexa handles her regular daily duties as Commander, leaving little time for much else.

As a result, Clarke is, for a lack of a better word, lonely.

She doesn’t blame Lexa for being so busy, nor does she hold it against her. Clarke knows Lexa is working her absolute hardest to make sure everything is just right for their joining ceremony and her rise to power at Lexa’s side. Even still, Clarke can’t help but feel a bit neglected at only seeing her love for a few minutes each night when the brunette sneaks into bed and leaves long before Clarke awakes the next morning.

To distract herself, Clarke puts more effort into her own tasks over the week.

The blonde spends her mornings and afternoons with Edra, learning and relearning decades worth of clan history, customs, her future responsibilities, and everything else she needs to know before her ascension date, now only a few days away. In the evenings, Clarke tours the great city she will soon call home, learning the layout of the seemingly never-ending city.

Clarke, escorted by her royal guard - Thomas proudly at the forefront of the nearly half-dozen men, a brilliant grin on his face to contradict the stoic and reserved expressions of the rest of her guard - covers block after block of the city. From the tower, to the docks, to the schoolyards, to the residential areas, Clarke begins to learn all the many sections that Polis has to offer.

Today, Clarke makes her way towards a section of the city she hasn’t visited since arriving back in Polis nearly two weeks ago. As her convoy weaves through the busy streets, a clear destination in mind, the vibrant and alive buildings and stalls that surround her begin to thin out.

Collapsed buildings and forgotten homes begin to frame their path, the abandoned area of Polis they walk towards eerily quiet compared to the vibrancy and life that the streets of Polis usually have to offer. The roads are empty, the air is filled with only the sound of winds and the rustle of leaves. The only disturbance, a single building at the end of a very long road and the sounds that can be heard coming from within.

The old and graying stone barrack, long ago deserted by Polis forces, carries a steady rumble of voices and the sounds of life. A few occupants lurk outside, seated around a single fireplace, appreciating the last rays of the evening. The rest, nearly 150 homeless Skaikru, are behind the thick walls, sleeping in bunk beds and still adjusting to their new status.

Clarke watches the abandoned building for a few minutes, the sense of nerves familiar with being around her people causing a unwelcome ache in her stomach. She’d been putting off heading to this side of town for a few reasons, having to deal with the unwavering number of questions her people would throw at her only the beginning of her worries.

Unfortunately, Clarke knows she can’t wait any longer.

Steeling herself, Clarke gathers her resolve and heads for the large double doors ahead of her, the 5 guards (plus Thomas) following close behind her.

 

* * *

 

 

The visit with the displaced Skaikru goes about as well as Clarke imagined it would.

As soon as she entered, dozens of people shot to their feet, eager to get word from Clarke on the status of Arkadia, when they could leave, where they would go, and so many questions that Clarke’s head began to spin. A part of her wanted to stay, sit down with each and every mother, father, child, or anyone who might have a question or concern for her. Unfortunately, there’s no time for that.

Her guards, now spread out around her, closed in to form a sort of protective shield from the onslaught of her people and their never-ending persistence. The group weave their way through the overfilled barracks, heading towards the only uncrowded corner of the room, empty except for one brunette girl, and piles of scrap and wires.

They reached Raven without too much hassle, and Clarke was able to greet her friend quickly, letting Raven know she needed to speak with her, privately, in the tower. Apparently Raven noticed her sense of urgency, because the mechanic quickly wiped her grease covered hands off, gathering her things for the trip.

While she waited for Raven to get ready, a familiar dirty-blonde hair catches the corner of her eye. Across the room, her mother sits on an empty cot, watching on.

Her mother’s eyes are filled with emotion, an overwhelming sense of motherly love and concern clashing with her anger and sense of betrayal that she now watches Clarke with.

A heavy sigh and a few minutes later, Raven is ready to go and their group of now 7 weaves towards the exit, away from the crowd of families and friends behind them.

Now, an hour later, Clarke leans back in her chair, closing her eyes with another heavy sigh.

“Your mom will come around, Clarke,” Raven says reassuringly.

Clarke cracks an eye open, looking over at her friend who sits on the couch across from her, her leg resting on a nearby table as if she owns the place.

“You saw that too, huh?” Clarke mumbles with another sigh.

“Kind of hard to miss, Princess. Abby has been all ‘dark and brooding’ since we got to Polis. It’s going to take time for her to adjust, you just have to be patient.”

Clarke nods at her friend’s words, hoping them to be true. She had assumed her mom would be upset when she found out about her relationship with Lexa, maybe even trying to talk her out of it. Her plan was to have Lexa host a dinner, just the three of them, so they could both tell her mom, together.

Unfortunately, what she did not expect, was for her mother to storm into the war tent, just minutes before their attack on Arkadia and Pike’s men.

_When were you going to tell me you had gotten engaged!?_

Clarke had been equal parts stunned and embarrassed, painfully aware of the dozen or so generals, and Lexa, standing in the tent with them. Of course, she didn’t know what to say in the moment, and there was really no time to have the discussion in the moment as it was. So, Clarke did the only thing she could, and walked away, with a promise of _we_ _’ll talk later_.

 

Later never came.

 

When the fight was over and Arkadia had been razed to the ground, nothing left but charred scrap metal and ash in the wind, Clarke had sought out her mother. When she knocked on her mother’s temporary tent at the heart of the Skaikru camp, announcing herself, Kane had greeted her, a tired and weary smile on his lips.

 _She doesn_ _’t want to speak to you right now, Clarke._

And that remained the case, two weeks later. Her mother still refused to meet with her, always hiding behind claims of being busy or not feeling well. It hurt, but Clarke knew her mother couldn’t stay mad at her forever - or at least, that’s what she hoped.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s nearly an hour later when Clarke hears a distinctive voice at the door, having a quick exchange of words with the guards posted there. The blonde perks in her seat immediately, a small smile forming on her lips.

“That’s adorable,” Clarke hears Raven’s mocking tone, but pays it no mind. Her eyes stay homed in on the door, excited at really seeing Lexa for the first time in nearly a week.

They’d talked about this meeting the night before, a weary-eyed Lexa had sneaked into bed at the dead of night, waking Clarke up as she did so. They’d spent a few minutes talking, Clarke welcoming the girl with a kiss as Lexa recounted her day, and Lexa humming along attentively as Clarke spoke about her own. It was after a few minutes that the discussion shifted to Praimfaya, and what they can expect from the impending death wave.

From what Clarke guessed, they had less than 2 months before the wave actually hit, so the acid rain and other side-effects of the increase in radiation would begin to ravage the lands within the month. And as much as she knew about Praimfaya, there was still so much she didn’t know.

They would need help - and she knew just who to ask.

The door opens with a soft click, Lexa sweeping into the room soon after. Her eyes sweep around the room before landing on the girls sitting on the opposite side. Lexa’s eyes lock with Clarke’s first, stoic and reserved under the facade of the Commander but still warm and welcoming underneath their cold exterior.

Clarke can’t help the small grin that pulls at her lips.

Lexa crosses the room in long strides, coming to stand by Clarke’s chair, her shoulders stiff and back straightened. Finally, her eyes come to rest on Raven, the mechanic having watched the Commander with slightly-awed eyes since she entered the room.

Lexa and Raven’s eyes stay locked on one another, both girls refusing to so much as blink under the scrutiny of the other’s stare. Only after a few moments of Lexa’s hard eyes does Raven begin to crumble, the mechanic visibly sweating.

“Alright, Lex. You’re scaring her,” Clarke chides Lexa, reaching over to squeeze at Lexa’s folded hands.

The response is immediate, Lexa relaxes, breaking eyes with Raven to look over at Clarke, rolling her eyes at the stern face the blonde wears.

“Very well. Ruin my fun.”

Lexa moves to the chair next to Clarke’s, easing herself down, careful not to sit on her cloak as she did.

Clarke rolls her eyes playfully, turning her attention back to Raven who now watches them both with small grin.

“What?” Clarke asks quizzically.

“Nothing. You guys are just cute together. So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Clarke turns her attention back to Lexa, asking the necessary question with her eyes alone. They hold each other’s eyes for a long moment, a silent conversation, before finally, they turn back to Raven.

“Something bad is coming - and we need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna yell at me. My tumblr is CharacterStructure


	11. We Were Fearless and Unafraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bonding ceremony is right around the corner. A radiation death-wave is coming their way. Lexa tries to be funny, v2.
> 
> And poor Raven just needs some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, Chapter 11! (only a whole month later) *hides behind desk*
> 
> So, yeah... I may have dropped the ball a bit on updates. I'd give a long, complicated explanation but I'm sure no one really needs or wants to hear about everything going on in my life SO I'll just post my chapter and shut up. :)
> 
> If you do want to read why I haven't posted or about my boring life, I'll give a brief explanation in the end notes.
> 
> Enjoy!

Lexa’s not quite sure how they got here.

One moment, Lexa had been discussing the upcoming ceremony with Edra and Clarke, listening half-heartedly as the two women squabbled over the required attire for the evening - something about Clarke not wanting to wear ceremonial armor too outlandish, preferring something simple and neat. However, after Lexa had finally settled the argument, interrupting a nearly shouting Clarke from fussing any more at an equally irate Edra, things had quickly changed direction.

Now that they were alone, the conversation quickly turned from Clarke’s upcoming ascension and their joining ceremony to other, less trivial, matters. The topic jumped around from talking about each other’s day, plans for dinner, if Clarke had any updates on Raven’s progress regarding confirming _Praimfaya_ , until finally, Lexa caught a familiar hooded gaze looking her over.

“No Clarke, we can’t. Not in here.”

That same gaze seemed to freeze her to the spot, the intensity of Clarke’s eyes lighting her skin on fire as the blonde advanced on her. When Clarke was within reaching distance, Lexa regained some semblance of control, backing away from the girl with desire in her eyes.

They traded steps for a moment, Clarke advancing with each step Lexa retreated, until there was no more room to run and her calves bumped into a familiar wooden seat. A light shove from Clarke and any chance of denying the blonde died as soon as her back made contact with the throne and the most beautiful girl in the Coalition straddled her.

And now, however many minutes later, things had only gotten more out of control.

“Clar-” Lexa’s voice leaves her in a breathy whisper, a throaty moan replacing her call for the girl currently situated in her lap.

“What was that, Commander?” Clarke’s smug voice rings in her ears, and somewhere the recesses of her arousal-driven mind, Lexa knows she shouldn’t find the fact that Clarke had reduced her to a breathless, lust-addled girl in the matter of minutes to be so attractive, but she did.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Lexa knows she needs to end things before they go any further. Among other reasons, the fact that they could, quite literally, be caught in the act at a moments notice, the large double doors the only thing separating nameless Tower staff and guards from a show of ‘Wanheda’s prowess’ as Clarke had so unceremoniously called it.

It would not be befitting for a Commander, _either Commander_ , to be found in such a state. And with the ceremony only two days away, Lexa doesn’t really want unsavory topics and stories being spread through the city about their newly announced _Sanheda_.

Lexa knows these things and yet, when she feels Clarke’s warm breath on her neck, the blonde pressing another burning kiss to the bruise she can feel forming on her skin, all thought of restraint leaves her mind.

The Commander’s hands seem to have a mind of their own, lithe fingers crawling down Clarke’s back as the blonde continues to suck and nip at Lexa’s exposed neck and collarbone. The traitorous appendages come to a rest below Clarke’s waist, squeezing their encouragement.

Encouragement that Clarke apparently had been waiting for.

The girl in her lap began to work her way across the expanse of Lexa’s jaw, the owner of said jaw powerless to stop the ravenous girl, groaning loudly when Clarke nibbled at a particularly sensitive spot. Loudly enough that Clarke slows down her assault on the brunette’s neck and face, leaning back with hooded and smug eyes.

“Shh, we wouldn’t want the guards outside hearing their almighty Commander, powerless to the prowess of their new Sanheda, now would we?”

Lexa fixes the girl in her lap with a glare, whining lightly and tugging at Clarke with her hands that still rest on the blonde’s lower half.

“Alright, alright. Someone gets cranky when they don’t get to fin-”

Before Clarke can finish her light tease of the Commander, already beginning to grind herself in Lexa’s lap once more, the throne room doors swing open quickly, a lone figure sweeping into the room.

Lexa looks to the right of the girl still situated in her lap, pulling Clarke closer to her instinctively, the need to protect Clarke from any intruder overtaking her aroused mind

When her dark and heavy eyes connect with a irritated glare that is eerily familiar to that of the girl on top of her, Lexa can’t help the involuntary gulp that sounds in the now quiet room.

“Hello, Clarke.”

Lexa’s wide eyes snap to the girl at the mention of her name, an unreadable expression crossing over Clarke’s face. With a heavy sigh, Clarke begins to disentangle herself from her ‘seat’, not before leaving one last kiss on Lexa’s lips, a brave yet tired smile on her face.

Clarke stands, brushing herself off and straightening her half-buttoned clothing to the best of her ability. Finally, the blonde turns, her face calm and resolved.

“Hello, Mother.”

 

* * *

 

“Hello, Clarke.”

At the sound of her mother’s voice, Clarke can’t help the sigh that escapes her lips. She knows that tone, the very same one her mother used when disciplining her as a child or teenager.

Mentally preparing herself for the argument she’s sure to have with the woman, Clarke takes her time climbing out of Lexa’s lap, not without leaving a kiss to the worried brunette’s forehead. Beginning to straighten out her state of dress, Clarke uses the time to reflect.

On one hand, Clarke’s happy to finally be in the same room as her mother and to have the woman actually speaking to her. However, another part of Clarke is angry, furious even, with her mom. The weeks of silence and avoidance from her own mother had hurt Clarke in ways she couldn’t begin to describe. Even though she had no regrets in her love for Lexa and wanting to be by the Commander’s side, being essentially abandoned and ignored by her own mother as a result had still hurt.

More importantly, past all the hurt, betrayal, annoyance, and any other feeling Clarke has pent up directed towards her mother, she just doesn’t have the energy or time to deal with it all.

With her official ascension and bonding ceremony with Lexa less than 48 hours away, the thoughts of all their possible enemies - human or otherwise - and the threat they present, or trying to find a solution to the wave of radiated death that creeps closer every day, Clarke can’t help her weariness of having yet another problem to solve.

Mustering her strength and putting a stoic mask in place, Clarke turns to her mother.

“Hello, Mother.

Clarke’s steady gaze finds a familiar glare; somewhere in the recess of her mind, a small child with a mess of blonde hair and chubby fingers cowers at the look from her mother, knowing she’s about to be reprimanded. And like all those moments as a child, Clarke can visibly see the desire to lecture her on her mother’s face, the twitching brow and grinding teeth a telltale sign. The difference this time however, is Clarke is no longer a child, and she’s done nothing wrong.

They stand there in a tense silence for a long moment, waiting for the other to speak first. The air between Clarke and her mother feels almost tangible, charged and thick with so many things said, and unsaid, between the mother and daughter.

Clarke’s not sure how long she held her mother’s stare, unwilling to back down, but after a moment, she sees movement out of the corner of her eye, Lexa standing behind her but keeping her space out of respect. Instinctively, Clarke reaches back blindly with her hand, open in askance, closing around Lexa’s own hesitant hand.

Clarke guides Lexa to her side with a gentle tug, presenting a united front.

“Did you need something, or did you barge through those doors to interrupt our conversation?” Clarke feels like a child; the sarcasm dripping from her voice reminding her of the many conversations she’d had with her mother in her earlier teenage years. Even so, she holds her mother’s eyes, unwavering.

Abby scoffs, her frown only deepening.

“Conversation? If I had been a minute later, you two…” Abby shakes her head, clearly not wanting to picture _those scenarios_. Instead, she straightens her spine, directing her attention to Lexa instead.

“I came to speak with the Commander about Skaikru and their current position within the Coalition.”

Lexa stands to attention, her commander’s mask sliding firmly into place. Taking a few steps forward, and motioning for Clarke to do the same. Lexa folds her hands behind her back, giving Abby her full attention.

“Very well, what is it you would like to discuss, Chancellor?”

“Actually Commander, I would like to have this discussion with you… alone.” Clarke’s eyes go wide at that, not quite believing what she’s hearing.

“Mom…”

“No, Clarke. You’ve made it _quite_ clear that you are no longer Skaikru. We are not your people. And as Chancellor, it is my responsibility to protect information regarding my people from anyone except the Commander.

The excuse is flimsy at best, and all three women know it. Even so, Abby does not back down, holding Clarke’s own eyes with her own determined ones. For a long moment, there’s no words spoken; the three women engaging in a sort of standoff - or more accurately, Clarke and Abby facing off, while Lexa watches on silently.

Finally, Abby breaks, her irritation showing.

“Well, aren’t you going to dismiss her?” Abby waves her hand in Clarke’s direction, looking at Lexa quizzically.

“No.”

Abby begins to grow angry, a harsh exhale coming from the annoyed Chancellor.

“I requested a meeting with the Commander. Do I not have the right, as a representative and leader of my people, to request a private discussion with the Commander of the Coalition?”

“You do,” Lexa answers Abby’s question simply again, not bothering to expand upon her answers which only serves to frustrate Abby all the more.

“Then why is Clarke still in here?”

Clarke lets out a slow exhale, growing tired of her mother’s condescending attitude and the conversation as a whole.

“You asked to speak to the Commander,” Clarke answers for Lexa, bracing herself for her mother’s reaction as she continues. “Over a week ago, Lexa signed and revised almost ever existing law in Polis. I’ve been recognized, officially, as Commander of Polis.”

Clarke watches as numerous emotions play across her mother’s face. Shock transforms to horror, and again to confusion, finally settling on one expression in particular that Clarke needs no help in understanding.

_Fury_.

Clarke can only watch as her mother storms from the room, the loud slam that follows echoing through the deathly quiet throne room.

 

* * *

 

As soon Abby storms from the room, the slam of the grand double doors almost causing her to jump, Lexa’s eyes slide over to Clarke, concerned for the surprisingly calm blonde.

Clarke is quiet for a long time, too long for Lexa’s own worries, staring after her mother, eyes stuck to the ornate throne room doors.

“Clarke,” Lexa says softly, taking a slow step closer to the still unmoving blonde.

When she gets no response, Lexa takes another step.

“Clarke.”

Ignored again, Lexa steps up next to the blonde seemingly lost in thought, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. At the contact, Clarke jumps. Her tired blue eyes jump to Lexa’s own, the emotion hidden beneath the surface so easy to see.

“Clarke, Abby will see reason soon enough. She is upset, and feels the need to hurt others as she feels herself.” Lexa moves closer once more, wrapping a steady hand around one of Clarke’s own.

Clarke doesn’t answer, instead watching as Lexa runs a thumb back and forth across the back of her held hand. Finally, after a long pause, she speaks, her voice soft and broken.

“She hates me.”

Lexa can do nothing but watch helplessly as tears begin to pool in her love’s eyes, the blonde’s face twisted in anguish.

“Abby doesn’t hate you, Clarke. She-”

Lexa never finishes her sentence, a loud clash causing her to freeze as someone else sweeps into the room. Raven half-runs on her brace, a tablet tucked under one arm and another in her hand, scrolling through a long series of text.

“I’ve been at it for over 12 hours. I haven’t slept. All of the satellite images that I could get access to show the same devastation already beginning to take place and I can’t figure out- oh,” Raven pauses, her tired yet determined eyes finally leaving the screen in her hand, noticing the emotional scene she clearly interrupted. Even in her exhausted state, Raven’s eyes lock onto Clarke’s clearly distraught ones, her brow furrowing.

“What happened?”

Lexa clears her throat, preparing to ask Raven to return later, giving Clarke some time, but the same blonde beats her to it.

“Doesn’t matter,” Clarke says with a light sniffle, wiping at her eyes. Clarke turns her attention to Raven, gesturing to the tablets Raven holds in her hands.

“What did you find?”

Raven frowns, looking back and forth between Clarke and Lexa, seemingly deciding if now is the time to discuss such depressing topics. Lexa can only shrug in her direction, her worried eyes never leaving Clarke’s rigid figure.

“Clarke- I can come back.”

Clarke shakes her head. “It’s fine, really. Please, just tell us what you found.”

Raven seems unsure, but relents with a heavy sigh.

“What I found,” Raven pauses again, seemingly unsure of how to word what she has to say.

“It’s not good.”

 

* * *

 

_“Something bad is coming - and we need your help.”_

When Clarke said those words, vague as they were, Raven would’ve never imagined the conversation that followed. A part of her, even after 12 hours of research and running simulations, still refused to acknowledge the severity - the truth of it all.

Every nuclear plant in the western hemisphere was collapsing, and the results would be drastic. Another apocalypse. A radiation-soaked death wave that would destroy the world, again, making it uninhabitable for nearly a decade.

_Praimfaya._

When Clarke had said the words, her prediction calling for a mass extinction of every remaining life on the planet, Raven couldn’t help it - she laughed. It had seemed like a bad joke at the time, so unimaginable and, what should be, impossible. And so, she laughed. Hard.

Unfortunately, no one else did.

Clarke had seemed visibly unsure of proceeding, probably unnerved by Raven’s sudden outburst. Lexa on the other hand, had been stoic, straight-faced. The two commander’s reactions had been enough for Raven to stop her borderline maniacal laughter. The chuckles dying on her lips as the engineer had a terrifying realization.

They weren’t kidding.

Over 12 hours later, with the proof _literally_ in her hand, and she can still hardly believe it.

She’d spent hours holed away in the room Lexa had designated for her as a workspace, every screen covered in satellite images and simulations, every table in schematics and paper maps. Her hands still throb violently with the strain of constant use, her fingers flexing subconsciously after hours of typing and drafting.

When she’d finally managed to get feeds from some of the few still-orbiting satellites, images of most of earth flashing across her screen were quick to dispel any lingering doubts she might have.

A dark mix of green, yellow, and blacks swirled over the heart of already fully-deteriorated plants, the high levels of radiation and promise of destruction slowly spreading to cover more land. The entire south west coast of North America already lost, all the greens and blues of the area replaced by a black darker than anything she’d ever seen.

After wiping at her eyes nearly a dozen times, hoping what she might be seeing was some sort of hoax, some trick of her tired mind, and realizing it wasn’t, Raven got to work. The engineer ran simulation after simulation, studied the schematics of every plant within a 500 miles radius, and anything else she could think of to find a solution, an answer.

Only to realize, there is none.

Sighing, Raven keeps up her half-jog up the tower stairs, the 4 or 5 floors between her workshop and Clarke and Lexa’s floor no match for her determined pace.

Finally, she reaches the top floor. Raven pulls one of the two tablets from the crook of her arm, once again pulling up the timer. The tablet resting in her palm blinks red at her tired eyes, catching on the shadows underneath a testament to her lack of sleep.

On the screen, a single countdown appears. Red numbers, slowly ticking away with each passing second.

 

49 days - well, 48 days, 15 hours, and 23 minutes to be exact - until Praimfaya hits.

 

With another sigh, Raven resumes her pace towards the throne room at the end of the hall, hoping, _praying_ , that Clarke or Lexa knew something she didn’t know… as they seemed to.

Because, if they didn’t, they’re all fucked.

 

* * *

 

_“It’s not good.”_

Raven finishes lamely, frowning down at the tablet in her hand once again, watching as the seconds tick away. Lexa is the first to address her, clearly trying to give Clarke some time to collect herself.

“What do you mean, ‘not good’?”

Raven moves forward, crossing the room to stand beside Lexa. The engineer swipes the screen of her tablet, bringing up a satellite feed of the nearby eastern lands.

“You see this little red circle on the map?” Raven gestures to the blinking icon. Lexa nods hesitantly, clearly not very familiar with the tech that Raven holds in her hands.

“That little blip, that’s us. This is where we are currently. Now do you also see the black and yellow fog that covers a lot of the land to the south-west and way north of us?” Raven turns her eyes back to Lexa, watching as the Commander nods again.

“That’s the radiation that is slowly creeping towards us. Quite a few of the nuclear facilities to the west have completely deteriorated already, and everything within hundreds of miles has been completely destroyed. Luckily, the nuclear plants closest to us are all still standing - _for now._ ”

Raven pauses, waiting for Lexa’s response. Instead she’s surprised when a voice comes from her left, much closer than she remembered.

“How long do we have until these plants,” Clarke gestures to the nearby facilities marked on the map, “collapse as well?”

Raven turns her attention to the blonde beside her, studying her still clearly upset friend, before turning back to her tablet, swiping away again. The countdown timer she had been watching before comes back onto the screen, red numbers blinking warningly back at all three girls.

“I can’t say for sure. By my best estimate, at least one of these will be completely destroyed within the end of two weeks. Which would mean the radiation levels will spike in Polis and the surrounding areas within a month, maybe less. I ran at least 3 dozen simulations, accounting for every variable and possibility I could find. I don’t have an exact number, but the most precise estimate I could find was around 6-7 weeks.”

“You’re saying, in two months, our home will be…” Lexa doesn’t finish her sentence, her eyes never leaving the screen.

“Yeah,” Raven answers her anyway, her voice barely a whisper. “Everything and everyone will be gone. The only place that might have been survivable was Arkadia, but even then, it would have taken weeks, if not months, to prepare and design as a nuclear shelter.”

The girls are quiet, the harsh reality they face weighing on their minds. Three pairs of eyes watch as their last days on earth - _literally_ \- tick away.

Finally, Clarke speaks.

“Well, there is one more place.”

 

* * *

 

The sound of footsteps echo down the long and winding hallway. The sparsely placed torches offer little light, instead painting the walls with the shadows of the three figures - the first two walking hand in hand, and another limping slightly behind them -as they continue towards their destination.

Clarke looks behind her once more, making sure their hurried pace hasn’t left Raven behind in her brace. The panting engineer catches her eyes, reassuring Clarke with a smile and a quick roll of her eyes.

“I’m fine, Griffin,” Raven waves her off with a slight gesture. “Just watch where you’re going, wouldn’t want the new Queen of Polis to crash into a wall and hurt herself two days before the wedding.”

“She will not be a queen. Clarke will be a commander, _Sanheda_ , ruling by my side. And mocking the Commander’s station is a crime in these lands.” Lexa cuts her eyes behind her, frowning at Raven’s comment.

Clarke notices how Raven tenses and slows down, her eyes cautions and apologetic.

“No- I. I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to-

Clarke squeezes Lexa’s hand lightly, dragging the girl’s eyes away from Raven onto herself.

“What did I say about trying to scare her?” She reprimands the brunette, pinning her with a slight glare.

Lexa’s only response comes as a humph and an affectionate roll of her eyes. The brunette begins to walk once more, causing Clarke to continue as well to keep their hands linked. Raven lags behind, seemingly stunned and annoyed at having been the butt of Lexa’s humor - twice now.

It’s only when the couple rounds the corner that Clarke hears Raven shout after them.

“I wasn’t scared!”

Lexa’s laughter echoes throughout the lengthy corridor.

Another few minutes of walking in relative silence passes. Their quiet footsteps disturb the dusty and mostly-unused halls as they wind further and further underground.

“Isn’t there a faster route to this _Sanctuary_?” Raven asks the girls, slightly winded.

“Yes there is a much quicker path,” Clarke hears Lexa answer the girl, her voice steady and showing no signs of tiring. “However, it is uncustomary for a commander to visit the temple in times of peace. Also, only the commander and flamekeeper are permitted entrance, no one else is allowed. If we were seen entering the temple, people would begin to question the reason for my visitation, speculation and worry would run rampant through the city within hours.”

“Oh.”

Finally, the trio reach their destination. A single door stands at the end of the winding hall, as plain as the walls around it.

Without wasting time, Lexa pushes at the door. At first, nothing happens - years of no use keeping the door firm in its position. It isn’t until a well-placed shoulder shoves at the door that the frame creaks before finally snapping open.

The three girls sweep into the dimly lit room, Clarke and Lexa moving towards the center and rolling away the various rugs and carpets that cover the area. Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke notices Raven walking around the various piles of old-world technology, her eyes sparkling with something akin to a children’s giddiness.

Finally, the last of the floor coverings are shifted away, a large metal hatch door revealed.

“Raven,” Clarke snaps her fingers in the engineers direction, drawing the practically drooling girl away from the heaps of tech.

The girl gives a heavy sigh, and - if Clarke heard right - a whispered goodbye, _for now_ , to the tech she had been ogling, before joining them across the room. The engineer immediately takes notice of the steel door at her feet, her eyes tracing the cutout of the frame.

“You mean to tell me, there’s a bunker underneath the Tower- underneath the Sanctuary?” Raven turns her head to Lexa and then Clarke, receiving hesitant nod from Lexa and a sure one from Clarke.

“Yes, it’s a doomsday survival bunker, built before the war.”

“How do we open it?” Lexa gestures to the door at her feet, watching it with a growing suspicion.

The lack of a response is answer enough, Clarke shrugging her shoulders rather than answering verbally.

A long stretch of silence passes, the three girls studying the closed hatch with equal curiosity.

“It doesn’t open from the outside.” Raven murmurs to herself, her voice just loud enough to catch Clarke’s ear.

“What?”

“The door. It wouldn’t open from the outside, it’d be a safety risk. They’d want the door to open from the inside, so only the people who actually lived there could get out - not for others to get in.” Raven turns to Clarke, gesturing to the door with nod of her head. “Whoever designed this clearly did their homework if it still stands over a century later. We’re not gonna be able to just pry it open with brute force.”

“Then how…”

“A service entrance. When they built the bunker, they’d need a secondary means of exiting, in case of the main door becoming blocked or something else serious happened. It would be hidden somewhere, in a completely different building - maybe even somewhere outside the city.”

Clarke listens as Raven continues to describe the possible uses and placements of the service entrance, her brows furrowed in concentration. When they’d first used the bunker, Jaha had somehow managed to get the door open, and in her rush to save everyone, Clarke never thought to ask just how he found the bunker or how he got the door open.

And now, it was coming back to haunt her.

“Only the original creator, and anyone they might have told, would know of its location. We could look for months and never find it.” Raven frowns at the door, annoyance written across her features.

The room falls into another tense silence, this time being interrupted from a slight gasp across the room.

“Lexa?” Clarke looks up at the wide-eyed girl, sadness shining in emerald eyes.

 

“I know where it is.”

 

* * *

 

_The dark and cold stones of the alley shift with each shuffled step Lexa takes, her feet moving sluggishly with exhaustion as the young brunette attempts to followed the robed figure in front of her. Squinting her eyes, struggling to see anything in the dim moonlit city, she barely catches her guide changing directions, quickly slipping into an even more narrow passage to the left._

_“Teacher,” Lexa grunts quietly into the night, careful to avoid running into the figure’s back in her haste to catch up._

_“We’ve discussed this already, Heda,” A familiar and comforting rough voice answers her in the night, adding a little more bite to her newfound title. “You are the Commander, the new leader of Trikru and her sister nations. And I am no longer your teacher or mentor, I am your flamekeeper.”_

_“Yes, Teac- Yes, Flamekeeper.”_

_After a few more twists and turns, Titus comes to an abrupt stop - Lexa almost crashing into him, grabbing at the walls on either side to stop herself._

_Titus doesn’t notice, too busy feeling along the walls until his hand catches on something - a handle. With little effort, the holy figure pulls a small door open, the doorway just tall enough for Lexa to walk without hitting her head._

_Titus ushers her into the room, then follows after. And even in the low light provided by the still open door, Lexa can tell Titus is familiar with the space. She watches as he feels along the wall, finally finding an unlit torch, which he proceeds to light in the matter of seconds._

_Only when the room is cast into light and Lexa can study her surroundings does she become even more confused._

_The room is empty, barren. A single space, no larger than her bedroom in Polis Tower, devoid of any furniture, windows, or anything that might make it a livable space._

_“Why have you brought me to an empty room in the middle of the night, Titus?” Lexa quips, her annoyance at having been woken at such an hour coming back as she continues to survey the area._

_Again, Titus doesn’t answer her. Instead, the stoic man shuffles across the floor, carefully moving his feet along the thick wood baseboards that thump with each step. He crosses the room to the far corner, lowering himself and the torch to floor level as he studies the floor beneath him._

_With a roll of her eyes, Lexa follows after, each step echoing in the bare room._

_When she gets close enough, Lexa takes notice of a faint mark tucked into the corner, an infinity symbol, no larger than her fist, inked into the wood._

_“This ‘empty room’ as you called it,” Titus begins, still crouched in the corner, “is a promise of salvation and redemption for our people.”_

_Lexa takes her eyes away from the symbol, stricken by his words._

_“Salvation? Redemption? You mean to make this a new place of worship, flamekeeper?”_

_Titus chuckles, or as close to laughing as Lexa had ever heard the stoic man. With a short exhale and the slightest twitch of his lips, Titus shakes his head._

_“This place will be an answer to prayers, not the place to make them.”_

_As he finishes his vague statement, Titus rises from his position in the corner, turning to face Lexa once more._

_“There will come a day when the spirits of the past Commanders will no longer be of any help to you or your people. The Flame is a strong force, one gifted by the gods to help lead and serve our people. It has brought us through nearly 100 years of trials and tribulations. And while the Commander’s spirits have proven to surpass any for, any enemy, there will come a force that cannot be stopped.”_

_Lexa stands to attention, her mind already relaying her most recent scouting reports._

_“You have news of a possible attack, Flamekeeper? Is it Azgeda, have they begun to mobilize forces-”_

_Titus stops her with a slight waving gesture._

_“What I speak of is more than a simple attack, a force of troops. There is no planning, no battle strategies, that can save our people. It is only thought this place, a gift from Becca Pramheda herself, that our people might survive.”_

_Lexa frowns, perplexed. “Teacher, I’m not sure I understan-”_

_“You will, Heda. If there should come such a day, you will know.”_

 

* * *

 

Lexa and Clarke watch on as Raven pries and tears at the boards beneath her feet. Using a small knife, courtesy of Lexa, the engineer makes quick work of pulling the solid wooden planks away, revealing a hallow and dark space beneath.

Finding the room again had been easier than Lexa imagined. Using what little she remembered of that night nearly a decade ago, and her extensive knowledge of all the ins and outs of Polis, finding the right alley took her less than half an hour.

And now, only a few minutes after pushing open the same hidden door, Raven had torn the floors of the once-empty room into shreds of splintered wood and missing baseboards. It’s after more than half the floor has been removed that Lexa hears Raven call out ‘found it.’

Taking hesitant steps towards the brunette, testing each board before letting Clarke walk behind her, Lexa crosses the room. Once both girls reach Raven’s side, the light cast from Lexa’s torch catches on a metallic glint a few feet below in the space beneath her.

The three girls watch the small hatch with a face of sheer relief, a heavy exhale coming from Clarke’s lips beside her.

“I’m a fucking genius,” Raven boasts to herself, the statement bouncing off each wall in the hollow space.  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was it. I hope you guys didn't hate it too much? I know it's not very Clexa-centric, and we don't get a ton of action or romance, but I needed to take at least one chapter to introduce Raven as a more important character... and you know, the whole death-wave stuff. 
> 
> Anyways, feel free to let me know what you thought of this chapter. Love it? Hate it? Wondering how my mediocre story got nearly 900 kudos? Talk to me in the comments or on Tumblr (CharacterStructure)!
> 
>  
> 
> **P.S**
> 
> And just as a brief explanation, the reason for my absence has been a multitude of things. Between the financial troubles my family has been facing, working awful hours for a job that treats me like I'm expendable, the start of my 4th year of uni, and just plain ol' writer's block... I've been reluctant to actually do anything with this. Hopefully you guys can forgive me, because I do feel bad for not updating sooner. I'll try to be better w Chapter 12, I promise!! <3


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